A Paler Shade of Misery
by A Kiss Before Dying
Summary: A vow in the ancient language leaves Murtagh and Thorn cornered by an obsessive King Galbatorix, but an unexpected alliance has him questioning his loyalties as the search for the last Rider continues. Takes place after Eldest. HIATUS - SEE PROFILE
1. Capture & Conscience

**DISCLAIMER:**

**THIS IS NOT A BOOK 4 NOVEL!** I am not writing on how I think the cycle will end; this fiction is focused solely on one character (Murtagh) in particular, so I consider it more of a side story than anything else. As far as the storyline goes, this fiction **TAKES PLACE DIRECTLY AFTER THE EVENTS OF 'ELDEST', BUT BEFORE 'BRISINGR.' **No spoilers for Book 3 are included in any way, shape or form.

In addition, all spells, thoughts, mental communications (as if from Rider to dragon) and words in the Ancient Language will be _italicized._

Finally, all plots, places, story lines, characters and dragons (save for my own) are in ownership and copyright to Christopher Paolini. Much thanks to him for making the wonderful world of Alagaësia for us! _Se onr sverdar sitja hvass!_

* * *

Chapter 1: Capture & Conscience

A cold breeze passed over the plains of Alagaësia, rustling through the dense forests and bringing forth the front of a storm.

The fog of war had settled over the land, that much was certain amongst the villagers of the settlements and towns scattered across Alagaësia. Urgals, and far fouler creatures under the control of the corrupt King Galbatorix prowled the lands, enslaving those whom they converted to swear fealty to the King, while killing and burning down the villages of those who didn't.

Those lucky enough to escape sought out the protection of the Warders – the Varden, as they were known – a group of rebels sworn on destroying the Empire. Yet even then, evil managed to reign, and to the people the Varden remained all but lost.

The nation was constantly in a state of terror, never knowing where, or at which town a group of Urgals would show up next. The could not call for help on the elves, for they had taken to themselves and had forever remained unseen; and the dwarves, just as selfish, keeping to their burrows and out of the affairs of humans.

There remained a tiny flicker of hope, though, residing deep within the hearts of those rebelling against the Empire. A hope that the Dragon Riders – a lost race of mighty humans and their chosen dragons, the most feared and powerful creatures ever to take wing over Alagaësia – would be reborn again from the ashes of the last of the fallen, the traitor Morzan.

It was a hope that kept the people of Alagaësia alive: the belief that the last Rider, borne from the rebels, would rise up against the Empire and ultimately cause the downfall of their twisted King.

And so it came to be that, if by chance a lonely wander or traveling group of slave traders were to look up, high into the darkening skies somewhere above the forests of Du Weldenvarden, they could, with a keen eye, spot a dark silhouette high above the clouds, wings beating consistently against the wind; and, a figure atop it, hunched down low and struggling to escape the icy talons of a controlling past…

As he clutched his hands tighter around the ropes of the crimson dragon's saddle, Murtagh glanced over his shoulder, observing his surroundings with a dreadful haze in his eyes.

The battlefield, thankfully he saw, had long since been left behind.

His fierce encounter with Eragon and Saphira on the plateau at the Burning Plains had left Murtagh feeling exhausted, confused, and mentally drained. Feigning a cold disposition in order to keep up with appearances seemed no longer possible for the new Rider.

_I have just ran from the orders of the most powerful man in all of Alagaësia… he demanded I bring him my brother and his dragon, and I have refused him. _Murtagh swayed slightly at the thought. No man had ever crossed Galbatorix and lived, let alone the son of his closest advisor and friend.

He did not know what good, if any, would fall upon him for fleeing. The prospect of escaping the Empire, however, and living a life of solitude with Thorn, far away from his haunting past, was promising.

_What are we going to do, Thorn?_ He asked through the mental link they shared. His dragon did not respond; Thorn knew, as much as Murtagh himself did, that there was no reasonable answer.

_Have patience, _Thorn responded quietly after the pair glided in silence for a moment throughout the cloudy skies, seeking no real destination. _Everything shall reveal itself in time._

Murtagh removed his hands from Thorn's saddle and gazed distantly down at them. His brow creased in slow confusion, and Thorn felt his master's mental barrier weaken and quiver.

"Blood…" he said aloud, his voice breaking as he tried to conceal any hint of emotion, "All I can see is blood on these hands… the blood of those which were once my friends."

He was feeling lost and hurt, Thorn sensed, for all dragons could feel their Rider's emotions and sometimes showed them in turn. He growled softly and his massive head curved over his shoulder to peer thoughtfully at Murtagh.

_Young one,_ he rumbled, and Murtagh scowled at the childish nickname as if he were being reprimanded, _Do not think of the past, for it has long since ended, and there is nothing you can do to turn the untimely events that such fog your mind. Now is not the time to show weakness; there will be a time to recollect your thoughts once we have escaped the Empire._

Murtagh felt oddly comforted by Thorn's words. He allowed himself to relax slightly, and his mental barriers stabled. A cool breeze swept the dark locks from his face and forehead, and he closed his chestnut-colored eyes in contentment. For the first time in several days, he felt himself unwind.

Opening his eyes, Murtagh reached forward with a gloved hand and stroked the side of Thorn's neck, smiling faintly.

_Thank you, friend._

Thorn merely snorted, plumes of smoke emitting from his nostrils as he did so. Murtagh laughed at the dragon's play of indifference.

The first rumble of thunder rolled across the forests below them, and Murtagh shielded his eyes as he turned his gaze upward towards the darkening skies. Droplets of rain fell steadily at first, and then gradually heavier as lightning forked across the sky above them.

Murtagh turned his attention back towards Thorn. _Take us down into the forest, Thorn. We should find shelter somewhere for the night… perhaps in a secluded cave, or—_

Suddenly, a piercing shriek rang throughout the valley, and Murtagh's head snapped around, cursing himself for his lack of attentiveness. Thorn gave a snort of surprise as a dark shadow passed them overhead.

Both dragon and Rider had no time to react as something came plummeting out of the sky, aimed directly for them. Thorn let out a roar of surprise and agony as the beast cut a long gash along the scaly skin against his hide.

They had no time to even identify their attacker. The black shroud of madness – whatever it was – swiftly circled them and rose up high again, once more preparing to dive.

_Hold on! _Cried Thorn as he barreled sharply to the right to avoid getting struck; his efforts, however, were in vain. Quick as the wind, the monster had struck at them again, buffeting Thorn to the side and throwing both Rider and dragon off course and off balance.

Taken off guard by Thorn's sudden defensive maneuver and shaken slightly by the impact, Murtagh scrambled for a better grip on Thorn's saddle, tightening his thighs against his dragon's rough skin to keep himself stable.

As Thorn expanded his wings wider to level himself out against the onslaught of wind and rain, Murtagh drew Zar'roc from the belt around his waist – _once my brother's sword,_ he thought bitterly – but he threw off the unsettled notion once the pair of them had come to face with what had attacked them.

The shock of seeing what faced them was more than he had received at almost being knocked off Thorn's saddle. Murtagh's grip on Zar'roc faltered considerably, and Thorn himself growled in shock as both gazed up into the clouds.

It was one of the Ra'zac. Mounted on its dread steed, it hovered like a deadly visage of shadow against the approaching storm. Of all things he expected to see on his flight away from the Burning Plains, Murtagh was certain he was not prepared for this. Nonetheless, his grip retightened on Zar'roc's hilt as he prepared himself to face this unexpected enemy.

_Brace yourself!_ Thorn snorted and, with a flick of his wings, the dragon rose to meet its adversary.

Both were prepared for the Ra'zac's attack this time. As the monster dropped from the sky once more, Thorn quickly dodged the brunt of the attack and Murtagh struck out with Zar'roc as the Ra'zac darted past them.

Murtagh let out a yell of triumph when he felt Zar'roc hit its mark. The blade caught the Ra'zac's shoulder, and the monster screeched in agony, yanking the reigns of its dread steed and shrinking away as it recoiled from the blow.

Fueled by anger now, the Ra'zac let out a terrible hiss as it turned its steed around back towards Murtagh and Thorn. Growing confident, Murtagh straightened himself in his saddle and gripped Zar'roc tighter, prepared for the next attack. Both dragon and mount let out a roar as they dove at each other once more.

The Ra'zac's mount was leaner and smaller, giving it an agile advantage over Thorn's bulky frame. It dove out of the sky, swift as the shadows, but Thorn's massive size held an advantage of its own.

Fanning his wings in midair, Thorn roared with such ferocity at the approaching dread steed that Murtagh himself winced. The monster wavered in its dive and, at the sight of the dragon's massive, gaping maw, changed its course at the last possible second.

The Ra'zac struck out with its wicked blade as the steeds passed each other in a deadly aerial dance. Murtagh parried with Zar'roc's blunt side, knocking the sword away from him. The Ra'zac snarled at him as he passed, circling to strike again.

As they fought, Murtagh cried out to Thorn, _Why are they here? I thought they fled at the Empire's defeat on the Burning Plains!_

_I don't know, young one,_ Thorn growled as he dodged a particularly nasty bite from the Ra'zac's mount, _Perhaps Galbatorix has sent_ _them out to find us. We are fugitives in the eyes of the Empire._

Murtagh nodded grimly, knowing all too well the consequences of his actions; fleeing from King Galbatorix's orders after the battle on the Burning Plains was a brash action he had not carefully thought over. He had most certainly labeled himself a heretic in Galbatorix's eyes by not returning immediately to the King's side.

_I was scared,_ he whispered to Thorn desperately, trying to justify his actions, _The King would have been far angrier, had I returned to him without Eragon and Saphira._

_I understand, young one,_ Thorn replied patiently as he circled their opponent.

The Ra'zac and its mount dove once again, as Murtagh predicted it would. Thorn swiveled out of the way, but unfortunately, the Ra'zac had foretold the dragon's defensive maneuver as well, and Murtagh heard Thorn roar in surprise at being caught so unguarded. The Ra'zac and its steed struck out again, lunging for Thorn's unprotected side.

The monster's claws caught Thorn's underbelly as he tried to barrel desperately out of its grasp. The dagger-like talons sliced through the ropes of the saddle that strapped around the dragon's back, and Murtagh's only means of restraining himself to Thorn were cut free.

Clutching for a second at empty space, Murtagh let out a yell as he felt himself slip away from his dragon and plunge towards the canopy of the forest below.

_Murtagh!!_

Thorn let out a mighty roar and folded his wings tightly against his body, plummeting into a dive after the fallen rider. Behind him, the Ra'zac was close at his tail.

Murtagh threw his hands over his face protectively as he fell through the treetops, his back crashing against the branches of the trees. He felt as if he was falling forever, slowed not even by the great expanse of tree branches.

Murtagh cried out in anguish as his back finally slammed into the damp soil of the forest floor. Excruciating pain shot along his scar, inflicted so many years ago by his father, and Murtagh gasped and clutched at his stomach as he rolled onto his side.

Coughing, he felt the taste of hot metal against his lips and watched as droplets of his own blood splattered the dirt resting beneath his face.

High overhead and skimming the canopy, Thorn bellowed in agony as Murtagh's own pain coursed through their mental link and into his own body. His tail flicked through the treetops as he flew helplessly in circles, unable to get through the foliage and to his injured Rider.

Behind him, the Ra'zac's mount took the opportunity of the dragon's distraction to dart forward through the topmost tree branches. The hooded monster slipped off its steed and, with a grace that would seem impossible for such a large creature, it landed with a quiet thud behind the fallen Rider.

Murtagh clung to the frail edges of consciousness, struggling to get to his feet as he heard the Ra'zac's rough footfalls approaching softly behind him. He managed to get his hands out underneath him, but as he went to push himself upward he felt something crack along his chest. With a gasp, he toppled back to the ground. Clutching at his stomach, he could feel several broken ribs along the length of his bruised chest.

The Ra'zac laughed hollowly as it came to stand next to him. Murtagh groaned and spat the blood from his mouth onto the ground at the creature's feet, cursing it as he did so.

"Dissspicable human," the Ra'zac hissed angrily, kicking Murtagh in the shoulder and causing him to roll over on to his back, "Did you possibly think you could outrun usss?" He slammed a pointed boot down on Murtagh's chest with a feral growl as the fallen Rider attempted to rise a third time. A scream of pain ripped from his lips as the Ra'zac mockingly pressed down on his broken ribs.

Thorn, seeing Murtagh pinned helplessly to the ground, resorted to desperate measures. Pulling his wings back, he reared his massive head up high, engulfing large amounts of air into his lungs.

_Watch out! _He cried to Murtagh just before he dove forward and exhaled. Flames erupted from Thorn's throat and swallowed up the treetops. Murtagh threw his hands over his head to protect himself from the falling timbers as a fireball of debris rained down upon them. Caught of guard by the dragon's actions, the Ra'zac recoiled, relinquishing its hold on Murtagh. Sword drawn, it cast an angry gaze upwards, hissing furiously.

The fire burned rapidly and soon cleared a wide enough path to the forest floor for Thorn to drop down to Murtagh's aide. With a bellow, Thorn stood over Murtagh and snapped viciously at the Ra'zac, gradually driving the creature away.

_I… I didn't know you could breathe fire yet!_ Murtagh choked through the fumes.

Thorn kept his livid gaze on the Ra'zac and growled with a flick of his tail, _Nor did I, young one. Let us be thankful I could call upon it when I did._

Murtagh slowly lifted up his head as far as he dared to catch a glimpse of the retreating Ra'zac. Backed almost to the trees outlining the small clearing they had landed in, the creature had its sword pointed at Thorn as it screeched, "Wretched animal! You sssshall pay for your insolence when we deliver your ssscaly hide to our King!"

Thorn snorted. _We shall see about that._

Murtagh wasn't so sure. _Something about this doesn't seem right…_ He was sure that if, given the Ra'zac had shown its face, its twisted, bird-like mouth would have been grinning. Through the haze his pain had settled across his mind, he tried to make sense of the attack.

_They rarely ever do so in daylight… it makes them too noticeable. So why me… and why now?_

A rustle was heard from the shrouded forest of trees behind them, and Murtagh twisted his head around in alarm. As he gazed into the void of trees, though, he could see nothing. Reaching out to Thorn's mind to warn him of more possible danger, he abruptly ran into the dragon's defensive mental barrier.

Thorn was plainly provoked, but Murtagh continued to probe at his conscience, trying in vain to catch his dragon's attention. _Thorn… Thorn, turn around! There's something else here!_

Desperate, Murtagh turned his head to peer once more into the forest. The snap of a fallen branch caught his attention; and this time, the shout erupted, unbidden from his mouth: "Thorn, behind you! There are more!"

Thorn whirled around, barely missing stomping upon Murtagh in his frenzy. Surprise made him bellow and snap up the first Urgal that had lunged at them, axe raised and poised to strike. Black crimson blood splattered across Murtagh's face as Thorn tossed the corpse aside, stunned at the frightened reflexes that had caused him to strike.

Before the carcass had even reached the ground, the rest of the Urgals surged forward. There had to be at least two dozen, Murtagh noticed as he struggled frantically to his feet. He staggered a bit and drew Zar'roc, preparing himself to fight off the Ra'zac as well as the hideous creatures that had ambushed them.

Thorn was quickly overwhelmed as the Urgals pitched themselves at him, swords and axes raised. He bellowed furiously, raising himself on his hind legs, lashing out with tail, tooth, and nail. Several Urgals were felled instantly, but though Thorn fought ferociously, they still managed to land several well-placed blows, and his hide was soon trickling with blood.

Enraged, Murtagh rushed forward, Zar'roc raised high. He cleaved two of the monsters' heads clean off before the rest realized that he had joined the fight. They turned around, screaming angrily as they swung their own swords at him.

Ducking to avoid the blows, Murtagh gasped as his broken ribs shot another stab of pain across his chest. He crumpled to the forest floor with a moan, conscious still of the Urgals still advancing on him from behind. He pulled himself forward, Zar'roc in hand, attempting to stagger to his feet again. Suddenly, a dark blur obscured his vision, and he lifted his head to see the Ra'zac standing above him.

His sword was arched high over his head, preparing to strike. Murtagh knew he could do nothing to avoid the blow. Thorn bellowed desperately, unable to break from the Urgals that had surrounded him. They had clambered on top of him now, restraining his flailing wings, limbs and mouth with strips of leather.

Murtagh's last thoughts were of screaming, "Thorn!" before he felt the blunt butt of a sword strike the top of his head. Looking up, he moaned inaudibly when he noticed a second dark shadow – another Ra'zac – standing in front of the first.

He fancied he heard the words "…to be kept alive" hissed from the second creature's hooked beak before he felt himself give in to the darkness.


	2. Your King Galbatorix

Chapter 2: Your King Galbatorix

The long stretch of hallway that prefaced King Galbatorix's throne seemed to go on forever as they hauled him in.

Murtagh's hands were bound tightly behind his back; his head lolled limply on his chest as he fought to throw off the throbbing behind his temples that had caused him to fall unconscious.

As his thoughts cleared, he slowly fluttered open heavy lashes to a great extent of red carpet under his dragging feet. Glancing around warily, he noticed the two Ra'zac that had ambushed him each had a viselike grip on his upper arms, pulling him unceremoniously down the throne room walkway.

_I promised myself that no one could draw me back to this wretched place,_ Murtagh thought grimly. _I had no idea that the thought was literal._

He grunted when the Ra'zac threw him forward unexpectedly. Staggering to keep his balance on weak knees, he looked up, hands still bound, to the dark figure sitting regally on the shrouded throne in front of him.

Galbatorix.

Murtagh's eyes darkened with a sudden raging hatred for the man – his father's closest companion – sitting in front of him. Galbatorix's own cold, penetrating eyes locked into Murtagh's fierce hazel ones; neither agreed to yield to the other.

"Bow before your King," the first Ra'zac growled in its raspy tone, thrusting Murtagh further forward. Galbatorix remained silent, his piercing gaze still locked on Murtagh.

"Bow!" the Ra'zac snarled again, and Murtagh stiffened as he heard the monster draw its sword. The cold steel touched the back of his neck, causing his hairs to stand on end.

Straightening up boldly, Murtagh growled, "No."

The Ra'zac let out an anguished shriek and raised his blade to strike, but Galbatorix stood up then and held out his hand. His _g__ë__dwey ignasia_ shone with the power of the magic he drew upon, and Galbatorix's face remained passive when the Ra'zac screeched next in agony, dropping is wicked blade to the ground and gripping at its hands; smoke curled up from the fingertips.

As the monster staggered backwards, still howling, Galbatorix slowly descended the steps that led up to his throne. Murtagh averted his eyes to the ground, refusing to meet Galbatorix's gaze as the king paused on the last step, in front of him.

A hand suddenly shot out, fingertips curling over Murtagh's brow. The young Rider cried out as Galbatorix's mind penetrated his own, so easily passing through his well-trained mental barriers. The mental barrage strengthened tenfold as Murtagh sent up his own defenses, but the effort proved futile; he was quickly rendered powerless at the sheer strength of Galbatorix's hold.

"I have every right to kill you, Murtagh," he stated quietly. Murtagh merely grunted and struggled against the invisible bonds like a caught marionette. Galbatorix ignored him and continued.

"You fly into battle, upon my word in the Ancient Language to capture Eragon and bring him and his dragon back to me." His voice rose in anger and his fingers curled tighter over Murtagh's brow, strengthening the magical hold. Murtagh's mouth twitched and he jerked involuntarily, trying to throw off the pain.

"Instead, you leave Eragon alive, out of my reach and able to elude me once again, demoralize what was left of my army by fleeing, and worse, allowed the Twins to be slaughtered by some… _farm boy_ and his entourage!"

Shouting the last words, Galbatorix jerked his hand to the side, causing Murtagh to fly free from the magical bonds and stumble backwards down the steps, his back finally crashing down on the cold marble floor. The Ra'zac, recovering soon enough from Galbatorix's own magical attack, laughed viciously.

"I have every right to kill you, Murtagh," Galbatorix reiterated again as he returned himself to his throne, sitting regally. "But I'm not going to do that."

Murtagh, breaths coming in short gasps as he lay sprawled and broken at the foot of the steps, took no comfort in the king's words. Instead, he slowly reached out for the familiar conscience at the distant reaches of his mind.

_Thorn!_ he cried out, _Thorn, where are you?_

_I am here, young one,_ came the anxious yet distant reply. He sent him a quick magical image of a small, stone-incased room, the sides dripping with moisture from the ground and only small beam of light coming from a barred window. Murtagh's thoughts instantly went to those of a prison; certainly no place to keep a dragon, dangerous or not.

He felt Thorn shudder with the isolation of the room as he went on, _They have me restrained with magical bonds in the dragon hold. I can barely move, and my wings have been clipped. The air, it is so tight in here, I can barely breathe…_

Murtagh's heart broke at the thought of any dragon being taken from its freedom of the sky and placed in a cell, nonetheless his own. _I will get you out of there as soon as I can, _he vowed viciously. _How long has it been since we were ambushed?_

_Not but several hours at the most. You fought fiercely to the end, though it pains me to say that even Galbatorix's black Hand can destroy even the strongest of hearts._

Murtagh swelled with pride, but the feeling was instantly forgotten as he felt Thorn's mental connection with him weaken.

_Do hurry, Murtagh… _He felt Thorn growl furiously as he stated in finality, _But if Galbatorix lays but a finger on you, not even these magical restraints could keep me from tearing him limb from limb._

_And I for you, my dragon._ Murtagh reluctantly withdrew his metal connection. His attention turned back to Galbatorix, who gazed down at him silently, fingers steepled, as if expecting him to make the next move.

"Why did you bring us back?" Murtagh spat, struggling on his side to release the ropes around his wrists. He searched for the word in the Ancient Language to sever the bonds – _jierda – _but found the magic otherwise fuzzy. _They must have drugged me while I was unconscious,_ he thought grimly.

"Ah, I thought we might come to that," Galbatorix replied sardonically, the shadow of a smirk gracing his lips. Turning his gaze to the back of the throne room, he clapped his hands once and two soldiers jumped to attention.

Galbatorix sneered. "Bring them out." The soldiers bowed and complied.

There was the grating of a door being opened, and the clanking of chains as whatever Galbatorix had summoned entered the throne room. Murtagh glanced over his shoulder, and the breath was stolen from his chest as he watched the entourage that was suddenly displayed before him.

They were all children. Boys and girls alike: petrified youths of varying age and appearance were paraded like animals out of the doorway, all chained to a long line of iron bonds. Some glanced around the room, eyes wide, terrified looks on their dirty faces; others – mostly the older ones – stood stiff and impassive, as if trying to appear bold and unafraid. Murtagh knew otherwise; he saw the fear gleaming in every one of their eyes.

His own stunned gaze drifted down the line of children, all bound by the wrists by the same long iron chain, and each looking as miserable as the next.

"Wonderful, aren't they?" Galbatorix mused, cold sarcasm dripping from his voice. He smirked, noting the fury that steadily grew in the young Rider's eyes. "I sent my troops out to the remaining free cities and kidnap all those yet to reach adulthood. They will prove useful for that which I have in mind."

Murtagh didn't wait to hear what that was; he turned his furious gaze upon the king. "You disgusting pig," he spat, struggling helplessly against his own bonds, "They're mere children! How could you—"

"You will show your King proper respect!" one of the Ra'zac screeched, stepping away from Galbatorix's side to slam its boot once again into Murtagh's chest. His sentence was ended in a scream as he felt his broken ribs crack, and several of the children gasped at the display of brutality.

"I can do whatever I wish, Murtagh," Galbatorix said coldly as he watched the young Rider groaning with pain on the ground. He motioned his hand towards the children, flanked by several imperial soldiers against the side wall. "And thus is the reason I had you returned to me."

Murtagh lifted his head off the floor slightly, squinting against the pain as he whispered hoarsely, "W… Why?"

"Because, Murtagh," Galbatorix stated simply, "It has now become your new duty to assist me in finding the last dragon Rider."

Murtagh's eyes widened in revelation. _Is this why he gathered up so many children? To do as the elves did: have each one touch the dragon's egg until he finds the one that hatches it?_

Several of the children, no doubt educated in the history of the Riders, stirred at Galbatorix's statement. The king nodded, as if reading Murtagh's thoughts.

"Aye, my young Rider… you no doubt have already sensed my plans for these young ones." He threw back his head and laughed hollowly, "I shall find the last dragon Rider and control him as easily I controlled your father, and the countless other Riders who fell beneath my rule!"

"Disgusting," Murtagh cursed again, his voice rising in desperation, "You may control the last remaining egg, but the Rider whom it hatches to will never swear his fealty to you!" He turned his gaze frantically to the long line of children, hoping against hope that they would find their own courage to rebel against the corruptive King who had slaughtered their families and kidnapped them.

Such a bold statement wiped the rapturous grin from Galbatorix's lips. "Seize him," he snarled.

The two Ra'zac gripped his arms again and lifted him roughly to his feet. Murtagh cried out as the sudden motion jarred his ribs.

"Ah, it appears our young Rider has been wounded," Galbatorix mocked. His smirk deepened at the sight of the pained look glassing Murtagh's face. "Take him to the infirmary. Keep an eye on him at all times."

Murtagh's gaze fell on the captured children as he was dragged out of the room. He knew that their petrified, pleading gazes – increased tenfold upon hearing Galbatorix's sinister plan – would be forever branded in his mind.


	3. Emerald of Her Eye

Chapter 3: Emerald of Her Eye

Murtagh's feet shuffled over broken cobblestones coated with dried blood and moisture from the ground as the two Ra'zac led him, none too gently, down to the castle's infirmary.

Guarded once again between the two monsters, the young Rider struggled to stay conscious. With his mental link with Thorn broken, the extra strength he gained from the dragon's presence had long since been depleted; the throbbing pain in his cracked ribs had become palpably evident.

Murtagh prayed that the Ra'zac would let him be once they had barricaded him inside what apparently passed for the medical wing. They had reached the end of the desolate corridor now, and Murtagh found himself standing in front of a pair of bleak, weathered old doors; it was apparent that this infirmary hadn't been used in a long time. Murtagh shivered at the thought of what poor soul had been the last to suffer here.

One of the Ra'zac released its vice-like grip on Murtagh's forearm and slammed the doors open, revealing the small, dirt-infested room beyond. To Murtagh, it looked fit for a torture room more than an infirmary. However, he had no more time to examine the room at a distance before he was forced inside.

Murtagh staggered forward into the room and spun around, glowering at the two Ra'zac as he rubbed his bruised upper arms.

"You will stay here until your King ssssees fit," the first Ra'zac hissed, motioning threateningly with his blade at the young Rider, implying – or rather demanding – him to stay put. Murtagh said nothing, entailing that he kept no promises himself. He stood boldly in the middle of the grungy old infirmary, keeping a hard gaze on the two monsters in front of him. Not until they had left, slamming and bolting the doors loudly behind them, did he finally let himself relax.

_Are you well, little one?_

Thorn's thoughts brushed gently against Murtagh's mind as the young Rider collapsed on the nearest blood-soaked cot. Its hinges creaked ominously, but supported his weight.

Murtagh buried his head into the palms of his hands, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran slender fingers though his chestnut-colored locks. _I don't know, Thorn,_ he finally answered, staring at his leather boots as everything Galbatorix told him earlier ran through his mind.

He thought the worst of the war with over after the Empire's defeat at the Burning Plains, but it seems that the King had other plans, and Murtagh shivered as he thought about Galbatorix's dark new twist set into his already blackened mind.

It had been a brilliant idea, centuries ago when the elves first arrived in Alagaësia and discovered that parading their own kind, and humans past the dragon eggs was the better way of finding the being whom the dragon would hatch for.

Unfortunately Galbatorix, as he had with everything else in Rider legacy, tarnished the idea to fit his own needs in finding and rearing the last Rider of the new generation for himself. It would give him the definite edge in the wars to come, even if he, Murtagh, was forced to fight for their corrupted King, but Murtagh doubted that many more of the free cities would tolerate the kidnapping of their children.

His thoughts flashed next them, the children who had suddenly became a part of that plan; Murtagh had enough sense to know that they were being treated like criminals. They had been led back into the dungeons afterwards, he guessed, shackled together, scared and shivering, in small iron cells and watched over by the King's disgusting half-bred creatures, the Urgals; being fed just enough to stay alive, but by the looks of the ones he had seen – all of them emaciated, with sunken faces and pale skin – they were not even allowed that luxury.

Some of them would not survive, and Murtagh's stomach clenched as the sick thought that death would be a better fate for them flashed through his mind. Some of them were but five or six summers old…

Reflexively, he clenched his fingers together tighter, balling them into fists as he gripped at his hair. Did the King care nothing for his people?

_He is no King,_ Thorn whispered, having seen the same mental images Murtagh had just recalled, _but a monster. No living creature, human or not, would do that to its kin._

_Shade's blood,_ Murtagh cursed, fighting back tears, _I am a Rider! Is there nothing I can do to stop this madness?_ He slammed a fist down on the wooden headrest that supported the cot, splitting his knuckles, and he winced as the motion jarred his ribs.

Thorn snorted at his sudden burst of rage. _Murtagh, _he said patiently, _you know there is nothing. Galbatorix knows our true names; he has had control over us since the day the Twins betrayed Ajihad and brought you to him. If we were to risk setting these hatchlings free, he would only recapture us, as he had the Ra'zac do after we fled the Burning Plains. Think; it would only be putting our lives, not to mention those of the hatchlings, in danger. Galbatorix would not tolerate our insubordination again._

Murtagh knew Thorn was right, but he was far from admitting it to himself. Throwing himself back down on the moth-eaten cot, he rolled over on his side in an attempt to get comfortable, despite his injuries; he did not anticipate being treated to or allowed to leave anytime soon.

As he lay there and closed his eyes, a single tear tread down his cheek. He furiously wiped it away as a solitary, downtrodden thought ran through his mind.

_I am no Rider._

Thorn growled, growing impatient. He spoke up, firmly this time. _No, Murtagh, but I made you one. Do not forget that; my decision was not erred._

Murtagh merely ignored him, pushing the dragon from his consciousness.Thorn held back a snarl but did not resist. _I think I hear the guards coming,_ he said solemnly before retreating from Murtagh's mind; the young Rider felt guilty as he felt him go.

The silence that crushed upon him after Thorn left was unsettling, but Murtagh tried to ignore it as he laid a hand on his chest, guarding his bruised ribs from further jarring as he fell into an uncomfortable slumber that filled his head with troubling nightmares and the cries of dying children.

It was several hours after he had first closed his eyes, but to Murtagh it felt like mere minutes as he was sharply awoken from sleep to the quiet rustling of feet across the cobblestone floor behind him.

Grumbling and still half asleep, he did not move but kept his eyes shut as he pretended to doze, not wanting to have to face Galbatorix of the Ra'zac again so soon. He listened intently however, and as soon as they had come the footfalls were gone. Cursing himself for being so attentive and thinking it to be only his imagination, Murtagh let himself slip back into a wakeful slumber.

His ears still heard nothing, but suddenly he felt as if he were being watched. Exasperatedly Murtagh opened his eyes, expecting to face nothing just as he had before, but he let out a shout as he unexpectedly came face to face with a pair of quizzical emerald eyes.

Jerking upright and almost tumbling out of bed, Murtagh instinctively fumbled for Zar'roc, only to remember that Galbatorix had kindly relieved him of all his weapons.

The being in front of him yelled as well, startled at Murtagh's sudden motion and it stumbled backwards from its kneeling position at the foot of the bed, collapsing in a heap halfway across the room.

Murtagh let out a string of curses as he clutched at his ribs, panting and glowering at the person who had startled them both. He paused and came up short, however, when he first saw clearly who it was.

It was a young woman, sixteen to seventeen summers at the most; he guessed it to be one of the children who had been kidnapped from her home by Galbatorix. Murtagh had no idea what she was doing in the infirmary if she should have been in the dungeons with the rest, but he cocked his head and examined her more closely.

She sat on the floor, arms supporting her weight as she leaned backward and glared at him as he had done her. Long, unkempt brown hair hung well past her shoulders and curled at the tips; strands hung in front of her green eyes and pale face, and a scar ran its way from the bottom corner of her left eye down towards her ear.

Her clothing consisted of a tan, collared commoner's shirt coated in dirt, as was everything else; leather armbands inscribed with ruins he could not recognize encircled her forearms and a makeshift leather belt, her waist. Darker pants patched with holes covered her bottom half, and ended where calf-high boots began.

Covered in grime, she was unattractive and had the look of an orphaned waif or merchant, nothing like the noble ladies he had seen previously in Galbatorix's court, or even in Tronjheim; Murtagh entertained himself shortly with thoughts of Nasuada before turning his attention back onto this lost young woman.

Able to catch his breath once more, he cautiously moved to the edge of his bed and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

The young woman shrugged and sat up, blowing stray strands of hair from her face; Murtagh sensed an air of mystery about her as she glanced sideways at him whispered, "That would be my question to you...Rider."

Murtagh's face paled, and he unconsciously clenched his gloved hand tighter, underneath of which shimmered his _g__ë__dwey ignasia_. "What did you say?" he demanded.

"Is that not your crimson dragon being kept in the dungeons as well? I spied him as the others and I were being marched down there."

So she was one of the children Galbatorix had kidnapped; Murtagh gazed at her, feeling a new emotion rise for her, instead of the initial disgust and fright. Was it… pity? He quickly shook off the feeling.

Both of them stared at each other in silence for a second before Murtagh nervously changed the subject, asking gruffly, "Who are you, anyways?"

The young woman gazed at him with mournful eyes before bowing her head and answering quietly, "My name is Adriane."

Murtagh opened his mouth to respond in kind, but both he and Adriane leapt when someone suddenly barged through the closed doors behind them, and several Urgals rushed in. One of them spied Adriane, hidden in the far corner with Murtagh, and pointed at her, grunting roughly to its companions.

Murtagh spun around, prepared to fend off the inbred creatures if they should cause a brawl, but he was jerked around suddenly when someone grabbed him from behind.

Wheeling about, he cringed back in alarm when he saw the wild look in the young woman's eyes. Gripping his shoulder with one hand, she grabbed his palm in the other, attempting to tug off the glove that covered his _g__ë__dwey ignasia._

"Please," she gasped, "please, I need to know… what it's like to be one of you. A Rider."

Murtagh yanked his arm back staring, perplexed, into Adriane's frightened emerald eyes. Before he had time to react to her statement, the Urgals rushed upon her, yanking her away from him. They pulled her towards the doorway, urging her on with pointed spears, demanding and threatening her in guttural tones. The last Murtagh saw of her before she was pulled out of the doorway was a desperate plea glittering in broken eyes.

Murtagh winced as the doors slammed shut, feeling the slight twinge of guilt for not helping the girl; he sighed and sat back, and silence engulfed him once more. He ran a hand across his forehead, thinking about what had just transpired.

Thorn entered his mind then, chuckling. _Quite the little character you have on your hands this time, young one._

Murtagh ignored the sarcastic comment. _Goodnight, Thorn._ He rolled over and closed his eyes; he would deal with it once he was well rested.

But, sleep would not come; for even as he lay there, the young woman's words continued to dance in his mind.


	4. Magic's Deception

Chapter 4: Magic's Deception

**_Flashback_**

The line extended all the way from the throne room into the dank hallway; its length, estimated in children, testament to just how far Galbatorix had gone to seize control over the remaining free lands of Alagaësia, as scattered as they were.

Resistance had been expected, he knew, as he dispatched the Urgals under his command and ordered them to bring back any child yet to reach adulthood. He required these children, _needed _them, in order to fulfill his twisted plan of bringing all of Alagaësia under his reign and command once again.

There would be no hope for Eragon and Saphira, once the last Rider was discovered.

The free cities had little resistance to offer, once the Urgals had taken control. They had no morals; only their master's orders to echo in their skulls as they pried crying children from pleading mothers' arms.

No mercy was offered to those who opposed; it was easier to steal from the dead.

Galbatorix took great pride in his twisted army now, as two score of his Urgals flanked the captured children and brought them in before him, the success of the first raid he had sent out little more than a week ago.

Nudging the terrified captors forward brusquely, the Urgals had their spears lowered, wicked points aimed directly at the children's backs as they were ushered forward in line towards a towering figure, standing in front of his regal throne. Something else occupied Galbatorix's otherwise solitary space, however; something, the children did not know, that would change the life of one in their midst.

Galbatorix surveyed the scene before him with stony eyes; he cared naught for the lives or well being of these children, cared naught that some of the Urgals had taken sport to prodding some of the passing younglings in the back with the point of their spears, causing cries of pain to echo briefly around the vast and otherwise empty room.

They were not his own, and he had gathered them in his throne room for his lone purpose of finding the last Rider and rearing that child for himself; the rest, he thought with a wry smile, could be disposed of afterwards. Perhaps they would make for greater sport for his Urgal army, after all.

Extending his palm towards the small table that rested in front of him, Galbatorix lazily called upon his magic. The thin cloth that lay across its top flew off, revealing the small object that had, until now, been concealed.

Many of the children at the closer end of the line looked up suddenly at the unexpected act; some gasped, while others made quiet noises of impression at the King's ability to use magic. Some of the older ones, however, more educated in the ways of the history of their world, were struck dumb at the sight of what they saw.

There on the table nestled the last remaining dragon's egg in all of Alagaësia.

It was slightly smaller than the others but just as smooth, its oval form demonstrating symmetry the most skilled of blacksmiths would be jealous of. The pale light of the candles that illuminated the hall glittered off its sleek surface, showing off a shell as emerald as the purest of gems, accompanied by white veins snaking their way across around its circumference.

Galbatorix finally spoke up, addressing all the children in the chamber and snapping most out of their trances. His hands were folded behind his back in a commanding manner as he stated sharply, "Each of you will step forward one at a time and lay your palm upon this dragon's egg. As many of you should know, a dragon will only hatch if it feels the presence of its Rider. If one of you amongst us is truly fit for the dragon nestled within this egg, you should be able to feel a tingle of magic course through your hand when your skin touches its shell; thus is the power of dragons."

His eyes fell on each one of the small line of children in front of him, their dark orbs glittering mischievously. "A small select number of you will touch the egg today; if it does not hatch for you, the next group will be brought in for testing." He did not, however, mention what would happen to rest of those children whom did not pass this 'test'.

Despite the danger they were all in, many of the children's faces brightened considerably, the same thought running through each of their minds: the thought of being Alagaësia's last Rider of the new generation…

Galbatorix's eyes darkened at these looks. "However, if anyone disobeys my orders or attempts to escape in this process, you are no longer under my protection. I will have my Urgals dispose of you… and I can assure you that they are not clean nor merciful creatures."

Several of the closer beasts gave grunting chuckles of amusement, shouldering their deadly spears impatiently. Galbatorix grinned at the petrified looks on some of the children's faces; how easily their attitudes had changed... He had their attention at last.

"No disagreements?" He knew, however, after he issued the threat, that none would be unwise enough to object. "Very well. Step forward."

He motioned for the first child, a petite boy dressed in rags and mousy hair- not of eight summers at the most- to advance. The boy did so, quivering so furiously that he was unsteady on his own two feet. His face was determined, however, as he approached the most powerful man in all of Alagaësia.

His palm made contact with the egg's surface. And so it began.

The line got steadily smaller; though it was not large to begin with, the process of each child coming in contact with the dragon's egg took quite a while. At the end of the day, it was not only Galbatorix who was disappointed at the day's turnout; many of the children were looking quite upset or scared once more, mainly due to the fact that none had felt a jolt of magic. Some- mostly the younger ones- could have cared less about the emerald egg; they only desired to return home to their families.

Many would not be.

However, towards the end of the line, half concealed by the darkness, stood the shaking form of a young girl, a woman of seventeen years, with brown hair and commoner's clothing; a woman who was currently clutching at her hand, staring at it in shock as if it were suddenly alien, foreign to her.

This woman, unlike any of the other children, had felt the faint brush of magic against her fingertips as she laid her palm upon Galbatorix's dragon egg.

Adriane could not have believed it for herself.

_The Rider our King currently commands... he is here. Here, somewhere within these confines... I must find him and speak with him!_

**_End_**

**_

* * *

_**

It had been several long, uneventful days since his recapture, and Murtagh found himself still barricaded in King Galbatorix's fortress, sitting in what passed for the castle's infirmary. Nothing had been provided for him with the exception of scarce plates of food and goblets of ale, passed to him from one of the guards through the wrought-iron doors of his new prison.

Sitting now with his feet off the side of his cot, Murtagh gently unwrapped the bandages tied tightly across his chest that kept any unruly motion from jarring his bruised ribs. Setting the blood-tinged wraps on the mattress next to him, Murtagh ran his fingers lightly across the dark bruises that ran down the length of his abdomen. The broken ribs still pained him, but he would heal quickly.

_How are you fairing?_ Thorn asked quietly, breaking the silence that endlessly echoed in Murtagh's head. The young Rider smiled faintly and watched his dragon tear greedily into a slab of meat before answering.

_Better, I think. _He stretched experimentally. _My ribs don't hurt as much, but too much movement still pains me slightly._ Thorn flicked his tail in satisfaction.

_That is good._ He continued to gnaw at the meat with a renewed vigor. Murtagh chuckled.

_I see you haven't suffered much at our given hostility. The soldiers have treated you well?_

Thorn growled. _As they know they should. _He looked up, agitation twisting in his voice. _They have treated me well enough, yes, and provided for me more than my fair share of food. But their methods are still bitter, and the closeness of this prison crushes down on me._ He shuddered slightly. _But aye, I am well, and at ease to know that my quarters are not to be shared with your King's foul black dragon._

Murtagh trembled at the mention of Galbatorix's evil dragon, Shruikan. He was glad to know that neither of them had yet to come face to face with the hideous creature.

The pair sat in silence for a moment, brooding over all that had occurred. Murtagh stood up and gently slipped on his dark tunic over his ribs, careful not to brush the fabric over his bruises. As he sat back down, he mumbled to Thorn awkwardly, _That young woman is still on my mind._

There was a humorous pause before Thorn spoke up finally, _I know._

Murtagh frowned. _She was mad. She had to be!_

_Perhaps she was merely curious._

Murtagh flinched when he thought about the girl snatching up his gloved hand, simply to get a glimpse of his _gëdwey ignasia._ How had she even known that he was a Rider?

_A mystery to ponder later, perhaps,_ Thorn growled. Murtagh watched as in his mind, the crimson dragon rose from his flanks, tail flicking and meat discarded. _Murtagh, be on your guard. Someone approaches._

Murtagh hastily withdrew his mental connection with Thorn and sat upright on his cot as the door to the infirmary was pounded upon. Before he could even get up to open it, however, it was roughly thrown open. Murtagh backed himself warily into the far corner of the room as several of Galbatorix's soldiers filed in, accompanied by two ferocious-looking Kull.

Upon spotting him, one soldier, clad in the official red and black attire of the King's court, stepped forward, javelin raised in warning. "Dragon Rider," he addressed in a haughty tone, "Your King Galbatorix wishes to hold council with you in his throne room. He says it is concerning matters of due importance and that you should not keep him waiting."

Murtagh raised his chin proudly, matching the man's arrogant posture. "And what if I decline?" After the events that had led him back to the one place he did not wish to be, and all in Galbatorix's name, he had no wish to see 'his King' again anytime soon.

_Murtagh…_ Thorn hissed quietly in a cautious tone in his mind. _Watch your demeanor. Galbatorix could have your head for it if he so pleased._

_I know,_ he growled in return. His attention, however, was diverted back to the soldiers as one lowered his spear menacingly.

"It would not be wise, Dragon Rider," he growled in a low tone. His eyes flicked briefly towards the Kull that towered menacingly above him, and Murtagh got the hint.

Galbatorix was not in the mood to take precautions. _Well,_ he thought as he stepped forward, back straightened resentfully_, neither am I._

The soldier grinned at the Rider's show of obedience. As the Dragon Rider stalked past him, he jammed the butt of his spear into Murtagh's back, ushering him along. Murtagh ground his teeth together, but said nothing.

Thorn bristled as well, but did not move. _Be wary, Murtagh, _he whispered as he backed out of his Rider's conscience, _Galbatorix has a strange way of twisting others' words to hear what he wants… he did that once already to get us to swear to him in the Ancient Language._

Murtagh said nothing as, flanked by the two deadly Kull, the soldiers lead him out of the infirmary. He still had unanswered questions as to why he was of any other service to Galbatorix, he kept his hazy stare low to the ground as the soldiers led him brusquely back into Galbatorix's throne room.

As he entered, Murtagh's eyes darted around instinctively for any sign of the kidnapped children he had seen his first night back, his mind reeling at any possible way he could escape from his current situation safely; with Thorn at his side, he could break into the barracks and free those who were captured… but then he remembered his dragon's words the night before, and the plan suddenly seemed far closer to futile.

With a silent curse, Murtagh lowered his gaze as the lead guard eyed him suspiciously. Even if he so desired, there was no way he could escape the King's clutches with his life, nonetheless the lives of others; he took to watching his boots scuffle across the floor, dreading the meeting to come as the guards and Kull ushered him through the slightly open doorways and into the great chamber.

Galbatorix was currently standing in front of his high chair, one gnarly hand clenched over his sword hilt as he paced impatiently back and forth, muttering dark curses under his breath. As Murtagh approached, the dark curtains draped behind the throne fluttered softly as a low growl echoed around the chamber. Murtagh suppressed a shiver as, forced by the two Kull that now positioned themselves dangerously at his back, he kneeled.

The King did not seem to notice the young Rider prostrating himself at his feet at first; Galbatorix continued to fiddle with the hilt of his blade as he stalked back and forth brusquely, as if wishing to draw it and slice something to pieces in his rage. Murtagh hoped it wasn't the reason he had been brought before him.

"My King Galbatorix." The lead soldier spoke up loudly, a businesslike manner about his voice as he stood at attention, spear clutched against the ground in his left hand. "The prisoner has been brought before you, sir, as you requested."

Galbatorix stopped his pacing with his back to them. When he spoke, his words were cold and foreboding: "Very good. Now… leave us!"

The soldier saluted sharply and spun around, and the two Kull followed him obediently back out the large wooden doors at the opposite end of the great hall. They closed shut a moment later once again with a resounding clash.

The chamber was silent once again; Galbatorix kept his back to the kneeling Murtagh, neither moving nor speaking. Murtagh, although not bound this time by chains or magic, dared not move; Galbatorix, in his fit of already suppressed rage, would surely have his head.

Despising himself, the young Rider stiffly lowered his head to the cobblestone floor, growling in an undertone as he did so, "I am here to serve you, my King."

In his mind, Thorn gave a derisive snort at the comment. _Your ploy is going well, it seems._ Murtagh shared his dragon's feelings of disgust.

As the last echoes of his statement died away, Murtagh chanced a glance upward; Galbatorix's shoulders were quivering with rage. Murtagh prayed he had not said anything wrong. In his consciousness, he felt Thorn tense, as though preparing to take flight and come to his aide in a moment's notice.

Finally, the King spoke. "Rise!" Galbatorix screeched, his face as twisted as ever. Murtagh did so hastily, without hesitation. Galbatorix whirled around to face him, his eyes livid.

By now, Murtagh was perplexed; he had no idea what was running through the King's mind. A small part of him did not want to know, but still he couldn't stop himself from asking in a puzzled tone, "My King?"

"My egg... my egg!" Galbatorix's hands were now clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. His impenetrable gaze was fixed upon Murtagh, who shifted uncomfortably. "The dragon egg... the last one in the world... it has been stolen from me!"

Murtagh's mind reeled with shock; his first thoughts went to Eragon and the Varden. Had they somehow managed to steal the egg away sometime during one of his first few nights here, perhaps by magic? Murtagh vaguely remembered Eragon telling him the tale of how Brom and Jeod had managed to take Saphira's egg from Galbatorix's clutches. Perhaps they had also…?

"…The girl." Galbatorix's voice was slightly calmer now, the expression on his face frozen as a second thought came to mind. He looked up at Murtagh with a look of dawning comprehension. Murtagh still did not understand.

"There was a young woman, one of the last to touch the emerald egg today." Galbatorix furrowed his brows in concentration. "Yes… I thought I sensed the dragon's magic flare as she brushed against it! She sensed it too, yes, and so she stole away with the egg in the middle of the night…"

Murtagh was shocked at the King's consent to such a quick conclusion. However, he had no time to ponder his decision as Galbatorix rounded on him again, his anger flaring once again as if he just realized he was still standing there.

"Find her, my Rider. Find her and my last remaining dragon egg! And on your own head, return them both to me alive!"


	5. Flight of Fealty

Chapter 5: Flight of Fealty

Zar'roc had been returned to him; his ribs had been mended to the best abilities of the castle healers; and, much to the relief of the crimson dragon, Thorn had been released from the magical bonds that restricted him in the dragon hold.

Murtagh was still in a state of shock as he stood on the topmost step of the dragon keep, securing Zar'roc tightly to his hip. Galbatorix's screeching words still echoed faintly in his mind, and he wondered silently to himself how the King had come to such an abrupt conclusion as to who had stolen the last dragon's egg. He questioned still how this mysterious girl had even been able to rob Galbatorix of such a valuable item; surely it had been under many magical enchantments.

_Obviously,_ Thorn stated as he crouched low on his haunches, allowing Murtagh to secure his saddle- the severed strap that had been cut by the Ra'zac had also been mended- _There are some secrets to magic that even we have yet to unlock. The bond between dragon and his Rider is great, even before the egg hatches; once sensing one another's presence, there is little to be done to keep such destined souls apart._ He eyed Murtagh pointedly over his broad, scaly shoulder.

_It simply does not make sense,_ Murtagh grumbled stubbornly as he tested Thorn's new saddle, running slender fingers down the repaired strips of leather; he was not up to falling through treetops and breaking his ribs again anytime soon.

Thorn's eyes twinkled mysteriously. _Maybe not now… but someday it will, young one._ He arched his back like a cat, stretching his claws and looked towards the approaching dawn with eagerness in his gaze.

_I do not want to do this,_ Murtagh whispered as he threw a leg over the dragon saddle, hoisting himself to a sitting position on the crimson dragon's back.

_I know, young one. Neither do I. _Thorn fanned his wings and flapped them several times to stretch out the thin muscle. He craned his head towards the horizon, rising on his haunches and prepared to take flight. _However it may displease you, we are in Galbatorix's hands now, and disobeying his orders a second time would certainly mean death. And who knows…_ He seemed to chuckle then, an amused growl issuing from behind his jowls. _Maybe we will be able to do more than bring this unwilling child back into Galbatorix's awaiting claws._

Murtagh sighed, saying nothing to the dragon's last comment; the cool breeze signaled the coming of dawn, playing the stray strand of chestnut hair from his face, and the first feeble rays of sunlight spread low over the plains around Galbatorix's fortress. _A new day, a new life… let it begin, then. _

And so, Murtagh and Thorn took off from the dragon's keep, soaring into the brightening sky and far away from King Galbatorix's castle, the second and most dangerous of their journeys yet growing ever closer with each stroke of the crimson dragon's wings.

* * *

Adriane dashed through the thick trees of the forest of Du Weldenvarden, jumping over fallen logs and ducking under drooping branches; her breath came in short gasps and she had several cuts and bruises lining her arms and legs, but she never stopped clutching the emerald green dragon's egg, wrapped in a thin linen cloth, against her chest.

It had been little more than a day since she had escaped the King, and yet it felt as if she had been running for ages. Adriane knew that stopping would only secure her recapture, however; by now, she was sure that Galbatorix had sent his own personal army after her- or, more specifically, to recover that which she had stolen.

Slowing her pace slightly, Adriane gently unwrapped the bundle of blankets nestled protectively in her arm; a gleam of emerald caught the feeble rays of sunlight peeking through the dense canopy above, and Adriane smiled wryly as she gazed down at the dragon's egg.

_Somehow… in some way… I was meant to have this egg. A connection was made when I touched it… I felt it, I am sure of it!_ She frowned slightly at the thought, gently re-wrapping up the egg with the cloth.

_However… even if I am not the last Rider of the new generation, Galbatorix will never have him for his own. My parents did not perish for the better good of his twisted empire…_

Adriane's foreboding thoughts were suddenly interrupted when the bellowing sound of a horn echoed faintly through the forest, closer behind her than she had expected. With a sharp intake of breath she whirled around, loose strands of brown hair flying in front of her face as she searched for any telltale sign of the immediate danger, but at the back of her mind she already knew what had followed her: King Galbatorix's Urgals, now hot on her trail.

There were about two dozen of them, the same ones the King had sent out to ravage and destroy the few remaining villages of the free realm. The unnatural, inbred creatures who were bulky yet agile and inexplicably strong came crashing through the tree line then, barreling into the small clearing in which Adriane had- foolishly, she now realized- paused briefly to check on the egg's condition. With an oath and damning herself for not stealing away a finer weapon than the small dagger she kept tucked inside her boot, Adriane spun around and dashed off at the fastest pace she could muster through the forest.

Arrows streaked past her and guttural growls shattered the silence of cool morning air as the Urgals rushed after her. Using the thickness of the trunks of the surrounding trees to provide cover from the beasts' black arrows, Adriane zigzagged between the foliage, one arm wrapped protectively around the concealed dragon's egg while the other flew out in front of her, shoving away loose branches and twigs as she struggled to put some distance between her and the Urgals that dogged her footsteps.

A shadow fell over her briefly then, flashing between the openings in the canopy above for only a second, causing Adriane to glance up in surprise, her green eyes searching curiously for the source of the distraction.

With a yelp, Adriane stumbled suddenly when a low hanging branch she had not seen snagged in her hair unexpectedly, yanking her head back; her hands fumbled to keep the egg safe as she thrashed desperately in an effort to pull herself free, falling briefly to her knees as she did so.

Cursing herself for being so inattentive, she struggled to regain her footing, but the Urgals had covered her lost ground swiftly and she would never recover it; one of the creatures bellowed, and Adriane heard the twang and release of a knocked arrow before the rest of the world was drowned out by a sudden, piercing sting in her thigh.

Screaming in pain, Adriane collapsed back to her hands and knees, the dragon's egg rolling out of her slackened grasp and coming to rest in a patch of tall grass. Glancing down with glassy eyes, Adriane faintly noticed the inside of her tan linens slowly becoming soaked in blood, the dark stain spreading steadily outwards from the shaft of the Urgal's black arrow that had found its mark on the inside of her leg.

Supporting herself up on her elbows, Adriane's breath came in harsh, painful bursts as she silently watched the Urgals swiftly encompass the area in which she had fallen. The ones around the outer edges drew their swords threateningly, and she winced, partly in pain and partly in fear, as two ferocious looking Kull approached her flanks.

So she was caught; the end of her journey had come sooner than she had expected. Surely the Urgals would drag her back to King Galbatorix; he would not so easily forgive her insubordination, nonetheless stealing away the last dragon's egg in the land, and she would surely—

The surrounding Urgals, as well as the two Kull, let out surprised grunts when branches suddenly crashed down upon them from above; a roar echoed around the clearing as a figure, large and shadowed against the sun, dropped down from the broken canopy and landed in the midst of the Urgals that circled a fallen Adriane. The creature's hide sparkled the color of crimson blood, and rigid spikes ran up along its scaly spin, breaking only where she could see someone else astride it.

Several of the Urgals were struck down, stunned by the falling branches, and those who were still standing retreated slightly, swords and spears raised and pointed at the unexpected intrusion. However, they dared not attack; every one of the creatures, though fairly unintelligent, recognized Galbatorix's Rider and his dragon.

In that instant, Adriane realized what the beast was as well, and her eyes widened in surprise, despite the pain in her leg.

_By the Gods… a dragon! _

Thorn bellowed, swinging around on his haunches and catching the two Kull who had flanked Adriane with the side of his tail; the girl ducked as the scaly appendage flew over her head, her face pressed close to the forest floor as the sounds of the dragon tearing into the remaining Urgals came to her ears. Finally, after several minutes had passed, she chanced a glance upwards.

The bodies of the two Kull, and several other Urgals, lay strewn about the now destroyed clearing. Those creatures that had been wise enough to retreat instead of trying to take on a dragon had done just that, and Adriane could still hear the frantic rustling of leaves as they scurried back to Galbatorix's castle.

Yet the dragon, and the mysterious human astride it, who had fallen through the canopy remained in the center of the clearing; the creature had taken to licking the blood off its claws idly, and the human slid down to the ground and approached her.

Adriane sucked in her breath through clenched teeth as the stranger finally stepped into view. "You! You're… you're a Rider! You're the one Galbatorix was keeping in the infirmary!"

Murtagh wiped Zar'roc's blade idly on his greaves before sheathing the sword and leveling his gaze with Adriane's. Thorn stood behind him, crouching and poised to strike again at a moment's notice should any more Urgals appear, or if the strange girl in front of them should prove to be an enemy and not an ally.

Finally, Murtagh spoke up. "Yes… and you are the prisoner who came to me asking about my g_ëdwey ignasia_ and my duties as a Rider. Adriane…" He eyed the girl curiously, her name suddenly coming to mind. He was, at least, now sure that she was not mad.

_Only partially…_ Thorn chuckled, _for trying to outrun a band of Urgals and Kull_. Murtagh ignored the humorous response.

Adriane, not hearing the exchange, let out a breath she was not aware of holding. "You saved my life...ah…" She could not ever remember hearing the Rider's name.

"Murtagh. And I will remember it someday when I am in need." Murtagh turned his back to her now, sliding Zar'roc's sheath into its place along the side of the dragon's saddle.

Adriane stared at his back, a quizzical look on her face at his cynical actions. "Thank you, Murtagh."

The young Rider nodded, still not meeting her gaze. "You are welcome." He settled a foot into one side of Thorn's saddle, prepared to mount once more. "You will be able to get out of here on your own?"

Adriane shifted uncomfortably; the arrow was still lodged in her thigh, and she attempted to move herself backwards on her elbows, trying to reach the fallen dragon's egg. Her painful movements did not go unnoticed by Murtagh, and he slid slowly off of Thorn's saddle, all of his rough demeanor gone and a look of concern on his face.

"I apologize… I did not realize you were injured."

Adriane winced. "It's nothing. I'm sure I'll be able to remove it." Her hand shifted subtly towards the wrapped bundle, partly concealed by the tall grass and fallen leaves, and put it safely in her lap.

"Let me help you with your leg at least." Murtagh approached her then, kneeling a safe distance away in front of her, eyeing the shaft that stuck out of her thigh. Adriane's eyes drifted down to her wound also; the blood had since dried on her clothing, but it did nothing to ease the pain.

As she gazed at her injury, Murtagh reached forward tentatively, taking the bundle of blankets from Adriane's loose grip and, before she could react, said, "Set your parcel aside and sit against something, and I will help you remove the arrow."

"No!" Adriane reached for the bundle, but it was too late; as Murtagh went to set it aside the blankets fell away, partially revealing a shade of brightest emerald. Frowning, he ripped away the rest of the blankets.

"Gods above," he cursed, standing up swiftly, his hand flying to Zar'roc's hilt as he stared down at the egg, now revealed to his eyes. "You are the one who stole the King's egg."

Adriane's hands fumbled to recover what could have been her most fatal error, snatching up the egg and throwing the blankets back over it. She then clutched it under her arms. "It is not what it seems! You do not understand—"

"I believe I understand clearly." Murtagh's eyes darkened. "You are a thief, and you have stolen a most precious item from the most dangerous, and the most prominent man in Alagaësia." He could not believe he was defending Galbatorix at this moment, and yet he carried on. "My King will not forgive me for slaughtering his army, even if they had tried to kill the girl who carried that which they were searching for." He glared down at Adriane, remembering his oath he had given Galbatorix in the Ancient Language… and oath that could not be broken. "However, I am going to have to take you back to the castle."

A fire seemed to burn suddenly in Adriane's eyes, and she sat up rigidly, meeting Murtagh's angry gaze fiercely with her own. Still holding on tightly to the dragon egg, she growled, "I'm not going back there! When Galbatorix made me touch the egg, I… I felt something, a sort of connection, but I was unsure of what it meant."

Murtagh's eyebrows arched skeptically as from behind him, Thorn snorted in a surprised tone, but Adriane continued.

"Whatever I felt that day was not normal, but even so, I was not going to simply sit back and… and watch Galbatorix control whomever this dragon did hatch for!"

As the girl continued to rant, Murtagh stared at her still, his gaze softening; Adriane's heart seemed to be in the right place, her morals almost identical to his. She seemed to care more about the outcome of the dragon's egg than she did about her own safety; she had, after all, somehow accomplished to do what he felt not even he, the King's own Rider, could have done.

Adriane finished with a huff, pulling herself back from Murtagh as she reiterated herself, a little too stubbornly for her age, "I'm not going back. If you're under… under some sort of orders from the King to return the girl who stole the dragon's egg away, then you're either going to have to kill me or… or stay with me!"

For the first time since he had left Galbatorix's castle under his own King's orders, Murtagh laughed. Adriane's face switched from anger to perplexity at his outburst, but he merely glanced over his shoulder at Thorn, who seemed to watch on with amusement.

_What do you think?_ he asked his dragon, a curious note in his voice. _Already this mission of ours has taken a most…_ he searched for the right word, _bizarre of turns._

Thorn seemed to grin in agreement past his elongated fangs. _It will be curious indeed to see where this… new adventure leads us._


	6. Familiar Strangers

Chapter 6: Familiar Strangers

"This is going to hurt."

A sigh, and Adriane closed her eyes as she slowly lay on her back. "Not more than it already does, I'm sure."

"The arrow is of Urgal making. Its head isn't smooth at the edges like most others are; instead, it is jagged and sharply serrated, like teeth, with multiple layers… intentionally made for causing excruciating pain, and also nearly impossible for them to be removed once imbedded in something. It would certainly not make for a quick kill."

Adriane squeezed her eyes shut at Murtagh's words, pretending she didn't hear. "Isn't your dragon supposed to be doing something?"

Murtagh glanced over his shoulder at Thorn, who sat patiently behind him, and nodded. _Hold her down, gently but firmly, so she does not move too much when I pull the arrow out. _He shuddered. _And trust me, she will._

Thorn simply stared at Murtagh, as if he were ridiculous to ask such a question. _The youngling refers to me as if I am some sort of simple creature to be used at your leisure, Murtagh._ He curled a lip, a small plume of smoke emitting between his jaws. _How juvenile…_

Murtagh laughed lightly, looking over at Adriane. "I suppose I never introduced you two. This is Thorn."

Adriane glanced down at her skewered thigh. "How appropriate." Then she smiled weakly up at the crimson dragon. "It is an honor."

Thorn snorted. _That will do._ He stood up and walked around Murtagh so that he was standing now next to Adriane, and slowly he lowered his front arm onto Adriane's chest, keeping her in place. _Let her know that I apologize if she catches my claws._

Murtagh turned to Adriane, who lay quite still considering Thorn's crushing weight looming precariously over her. "I know it is a lot to ask of you, but try not to thrash about too much; neither of us cannot guarantee that you won't get hurt if Thorn's talons catch you."

Adriane merely nodded. "I understand." Shaking fingers reached out for the strip of cloth she had torn off the bottom of her tan tunic, and she jammed it between her teeth. Her eyes darted to Murtagh as he shifted to face her bleeding leg, and she nodded, signaling that she was ready.

Murtagh took a deep breath, placing both hands carefully next to the black arrow shaft sticking out of the girl's leg. _Brace yourself._

Thorn's muscles tensed over Adriane's quivering body, and the girl squeezed her eyes shut. Murtagh felt a twinge of sympathy for her, regretting what he had to do to ease her pain.

Gripping the arrow shaft, he yanked it skyward as fast as he could; such deadly arrows could not be removed slowly without risking increased blood loss and even more suffering on Adriane's part.

The girl screamed around the cloth clutched in her mouth, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. She jerked her shoulders around as if trying to rise, but Thorn held her in place, and after several moments her body stilled; only her whimpers could be heard.

Exhaling deeply, Murtagh held up the arrow for Adriane to see; the head was indeed uneven, sharpened at every small point, from which now dripped droplets of Adriane's blood. Murtagh tossed the disgusting weapon aside as Thorn sat back on his haunches and Adriane pushed herself tentatively up into a sitting position, keeping her injured leg out at an angle. Murtagh praised her wordlessly for her courage.

Taking the cloth from her mouth, Adriane wrapped it several times around the place in her thigh where the arrow had been, finally tying it tightly around the wound. Upon removing the shaft it had begun to bleed again, and the crimson substance gradually stained the cloth. Adriane watched it for a second, a hint of pain still etched on her face before she turned her gaze to Murtagh.

It was the first time since she had sought him out in the infirmary back in Galbatorix's castle that she truly had a moment to drink in his features. The Rider had since turned his attention back to the crimson dragon, a soft smile on his face as he conversed silently with Thorn. He did not look a year older than she; with his chestnut hair hanging in loose strands in front of his eyes, it shadowed his rugged, handsome features and soft brown eyes. His attire was fit for travel, a leather tunic adorning his torso and covered by a coarse, dark brown cloak. A yew bow was slung over his shoulder, and Zar'roc's sheath was strapped around his waist.

Adriane swallowed; he looked more the part of the dragon Rider and adventurer than she ever would, with her simple light brown tunic now splattered with mud, her bloodied commoner's pants and rough leather boots. Her brown hair was coated with dirt and twigs and hung in snarled strands down her back and in her dull emerald eyes.

Clearing her throat, Adriane rose tentatively to her feet, checking how well she fared on her injured leg by balancing her weight on it briefly before resting a shoulder against the trunk of the nearest tree and stooping to gather up the dragon egg up safely back in her arms. Murtagh's eyes darted around to follow the motion carefully, his eyes fixated on the bundle, but he did not say anything.

Adriane finally spoke up. "Thank you for all of your help, Murtagh." She nodded to Thorn. "And yours, too; it was an honor to meet such a fine dragon." Thorn growled pleasantly as she turned back to the young Rider, wrapping up the emerald dragon's egg as she spoke. "I should be on my way; I do not wish to linger here and run the risk of being attacked a second time."

Murtagh stood up with her. "Where will you go?"

"The Varden, possibly. I have heard the rumors of their own Rider, Eragon, and his dragon Saphira. If they found sanctuary with these elusive people, maybe the egg I carry will be safe there as well."

Murtagh winced inwardly at the mention of his brother and the place that had revealed his secret. "They say the Varden are impossible to find," he mentioned idly, not stating that he knew where they dwelt; it was the last place he wanted to go to, and even if he had desired it, he would never be accepted… because, he thought bitterly to himself, of who he was.

However, just as he knew nothing of Adriane's background and how she had come to carry Galbatorix's last dragon egg, the mysterious girl also knew nothing of his past, his misfortunes, or of his father.

"It is also what they said about Galbatorix's fortress being impenetrable, and yet here I am, holding his most coveted item." She offered a wry smile, unable to see the turmoil he held back from the expressions his face betrayed. "However, the offer is kind, but you do not have to come with me. I knew the dangers when I decided to steal Galbatorix's last dragon egg; you do not have to suffer through them with me as well."

Murtagh frowned at her statement; he chose his next words carefully. "You know that Thorn and I are under Galbatorix's rule; willingly or not, he controls our every move and action." His eyes met Adriane's briefly. "I was ordered, on my own life, to come and find the one responsible for stealing the last dragon's egg. I cannot disobey that command."

He shook his head. "As of yet I do not plan to; my word was true when I said that I would come with you. However, I cannot go to the Varden; for reasons I must keep to myself, I am certainly not welcome on their doorstep."

Adriane scrutinized Murtagh carefully as she shifted her weight uneasily, leaning against the tree's trunk. He was still a stranger to her, a mysterious young man and his dragon who had, after only hours of knowing her, saved her life and offered to help her care for an egg that belonged to neither of them. However, it did not make him an honorable man, and so she resolved to remain guarded towards him, careful not to divulge too many of her secrets.

"Fair enough. What do you propose we do, then?"

Murtagh thought about it for a second before replying, an amused chuckle to his tone, "I propose that we try as best as possible to avoid an encounter like that again; I think that Galbatorix sent those Urgals to scent you down, and me for bring you and his egg back to him alive. If the ones escape are daft enough- or brave enough, I suppose- to try and save their own necks, they will tell our King that they were too forceful with you. In that case, he may pardon me for slaying the others as well as the Kull for your own safety.

"However, to remain with you would not be disobeying my orders. So I suggest we remain together, for the time being, for the benefit of both of us: myself, so Galbatorix does not punish me by disobeying him, and you, so that you may have some protection while you still carry that egg; for some, it is their last hope."

Adriane bulked at the suggestion, despite the truth ringing in Murtagh's words. "Extra protection? This is nonsense! I can get along fair enough without—"

Murtagh cut her off abruptly. "I've already saved your life once. Does that not say something?"

"A mistake on my part, surely! And no one _asked_ you to save me from those Urgals!"

Murtagh bit off his next words, a harsh note in his voice. "Galbatorix did. Perhaps you've forgotten so suddenly that I am under his full command. I may have gotten away with murder once…" he motioned to the dead Kull behind them, "But they very well could have killed you and simply taken the egg back themselves. Now, in order to avoid disobeying my orders, I must remain with you- do not forget that I could take you back to that foul castle at any moment- and make sure the dragon's egg remains safe." His eyes darkened. "Do not make me regret this decision. I do not do it for my sake, I assure you."

Adriane pursed her lips, slightly hurt at his comment; it sounded as though the Rider had no other choice _but_ to remain with her, and she did not want to continue the rest of her journey under such an impression. However, with Galbatorix's castle- and his army of Urgals- still so close at hand, she decided quietly that this was not the time to argue.

"Very… very well then. We travel together."

Murtagh nodded, as though that settled the matter of him traveling with her; he did not think it would cause for such an argument. Turning around, he walked towards Thorn and as he did so, he glanced over his shoulder subtly at Adriane, eyeing her cautiously; he still had no reason to trust her. Turning back to the crimson dragon, he told Thorn, _Fly above us for a while… I wish to ask her some questions and find out more about how she came to be here, with the last dragon's egg in existence no less._

Thorn nodded. _As you wish. Stay safe, young one._

_And you._ Murtagh watched as Thorn launched himself through the same opening in the treetops he had created when they had come crashing down, and soon the dragon was no more than a glint of crimson against the sky as he soared away ahead of them.

Adriane glowered at him as he approached, still set off by his previous question. She inquired, more coldly than normally she would, "What's our next step, then?"

Murtagh ignored the bitterness in her voice and responded idly as he secured Zar'roc to his waist, "I think we should head for the closest town and purchase any necessities that we may need on our… excursion: food, armor, possibly some horses, for Thorn is not yet big enough for two and my war horse, Tornac, is still at the castle. After we get what we need, we will focus then on where we should go."

Adriane nodded slowly, still clutching the bundle containing the dragon's egg tightly under her arm. "That is all very well, but I have no coin."

"I have enough to make the purchases; it would be difficult to steal a horse, after all." He smiled humorously. "Also, we should stay off the main roads as much as possible. By nightfall, Galbatorix will have heard from those Urgals that escaped about us; we certainly didn't do a good job of keeping ourselves hidden, which we should seriously consider when we head into town."

He did not mention that these very same tactics he had used once with his brother, Eragon, when they had first traveled to the Varden together. Clearing his throat, Murtagh went on, "Galbatorix will know that I have found you, but he won't be happy about my choice in staying. He will surely have guards and civilians on the watch for you by tomorrow, if not already. You're a marked fugitive now." He watched Adriane carefully to see how she reacted to such a brand, but her expression did not change.

Shrugging off the girl's sudden coldness, Murtagh took a step forward, one hand on Zar'roc's hilt and opening his mouth to suggest that they set off for the nearest settlement, when Adriane suddenly spoke up.

"I am surprised by you, Murtagh."

"Why?" Murtagh stopped, watching her curiously; her head was bent slightly, her hair shielding her face from view as she looked at the egg in her arms with a certain fondness, and she spoke quietly, in almost a whisper.

"You are a servant of the Empire, you say, impeded under Galbatorix's rule… and yet you still choose to travel with me, despite the danger and the risk I have put both of us in... despite the fact that I am, as you say, a 'fugitive' and the one person he sent you out to capture and return."

She looked up then, grinning faintly. "I suppose that makes you more of a man than the King himself."

Murtagh winced at her words, turning away from her to hide the pain in his eyes. Perhaps she had thought to say it as a compliment, but it had not been well received.


	7. Voices in the Dark

Chapter 7: Voices in the Dark 

Dried up leaves and branches crunched from under their feet as the two companions trod carefully through the dense forests of Du Weldenvarden. Murtagh steadied one hand on Zar'roc's hilt as he walked behind Adriane, keeping a watchful eye on her at all times. She had yet to give him a reason to trust her, and until that time came, he reminded himself, he would be on his guard at all times. This was, after all, the woman who had managed to steal the last remaining dragon's egg from the most powerful man in Alagaësia.

_Distrust will breed contempt, Murtagh,_ Thorn commented quietly. The young Rider pointedly ignored his statement.

The sun was high above them now, peeking through the canopy and illuminating the grim forest setting before them. Murtagh noticed Adriane, regardless of the limp in her leg due to the arrow that had pierced her thigh, walked with a determined air about her, her face set and the bundle that held the dragon's egg tucked safely under her arm. She remained quiet, ignoring him, lost in her own thoughts.

Finally, Murtagh broke the strained silence by asking, "Why did you risk yourself by coming into the infirmary to speak to me about so simple a matter as the legend of the dragon Riders?"

Adriane glanced over her shoulder at him briefly before smiling ruefully, gazing down at the bundle in her arms. "I heard the guards who stood watch over our cells speaking about how the King had managed to find again the Rider he had been able to bring under his control. That was the afternoon I was forced to handle the dragon's egg, and I was scared for what I had felt… but also a little curious." She shrugged, stating simply, "I had to know."

Murtagh hesitated for a second before asking, "And how do you know… that this 'connection', this jolt of flowing magic you say you felt, was real?"

Adriane glanced at him curiously. "I don't. However, I spoke with the other kids whom Galbatorix managed to kidnap along with myself after we were returned to the dungeons that night. Individually, they each told me that they had felt nothing when they came in contact with the egg." She frowned slightly, as if the memory bothered her.

"Maybe… maybe it did not choose me to be its Rider, but I know that whatever I felt in that moment meant something; whether the creature that dwells inside the emerald egg wished for me to steal it away and take it to those who were worthy enough to handle it- the Varden, of course- or if it was truly meant to be with me, I still do not know."

Adriane paused for a moment, and then said, "I think it was that magic that helped me steal the egg."

Murtagh stared at her quizzically. "What do you mean?"

"The very same evening after we were forced to handle the egg, we were all being led down to the kitchens for our meal. Galbatorix's guards were ordered to stay with us at all times, in case one of us tried to flee at any point." She smiled wryly at the irony in her statement before continuing.

"I heard shouting and scuffling from outside the kitchen doors; while the others were occupied with their meal, I went to go see what the commotion was. When I exited through the doors, I found the guards gone; Galbatorix had summoned them in a rage, and in their haste to obey they forgot to leave someone behind to watch over us. Somehow, whatever had pulled me out of those doors knew that it was the right moment for me to steal the egg away."

Soaring high above them, Thorn listened in on what Adriane had said. _What she says is true; you know it yourself, Murtagh, and I have said it before: the bond between a dragon and Rider is extremely strong, even if the hatchling is still inside its egg. How else could a dragon sense the presence of its Rider?_

Murtagh furrowed his brows, trying to take it all in. _Are you saying that she very well could be Alagaësia's last dragon Rider? _

_If what she says about this magical connection is true, it is possible. However, she is still young, and she may be mistaken about some things. _

Murtagh nodded slowly, as if still trying to comprehend Adriane's nearly impossible tale. _Galbatorix would have those eggs guarded so securely; it would be suicide for anyone but himself to even go near them. _He glanced uncomfortably at the young woman next to him. _How can one person be capable of such a feat?_

Adriane fell silent as the two continued walking, not hearing the interaction between Rider and dragon. After a moment she stated quietly, more to herself than to Murtagh, "My parents died for the 'greater good' of this Empire… even though they never worshipped Galbatorix and his evil reign." Her expression hardened. "I am not about to let that go unpunished."

Murtagh, although curious, did not pry about her past and what she spoke of now; he did not feel that it was the time. He had enough secrets of his own to keep. He remained silent, lost in his thoughts, but Thorn nudged against his mind gently, asking, _Murtagh… why do you stay with this woman?_

The Rider glanced skyward briefly, puzzled slightly at the question as the crimson dragon soared high above them. _I'm not sure…_ Murtagh responded quietly, still lost in his own thoughts. _I suppose she reminds me a bit of myself… or, at least what is left of me. She despises the Empire as much as I do… however, so long as I am with her, we are not going against Galbatorix's orders._

They walked for another half an hour before approaching the edge of the forest. Murtagh stopped suddenly, peering cautiously beyond the tree line. A small dirt road winded around the forest and traced a path right up to the large wrought-iron gates of Dras Leona. Several convoys, filled with packages of meat, weapons, and other trade goods, were led by groups of men between city guards flanking either side of the entrance. The wagons were carefully scrutinized by the guards before anyone was allowed to pass between the gates and into the city.

Murtagh shrugged off his cloak, thinking rapidly. _This could be a problem. _

Adriane walked up behind him, peering at Dras Leona with mild curiosity. "What's going on?"

Murtagh handed her his cloak without a response. "Put this on, and pull the hood over your head. When the soldiers question us, don't speak—you're going to be my servant. And keep the egg here; Thorn can watch over it while we're away. If he flies around for very much longer, we'll all be spotted."

Adriane slipped the cloak over her shoulders as Murtagh addressed the crimson dragon. _Thorn, can you land amongst the trees without being seen? _

_Yes. I spied a small clearing a little distance away from where you stand; I'll be there shortly._

_Good. I need you to stay here and protect the egg while we're in the city. We should be back shortly. _

_As you wish. Murtagh…_ The Rider listened as he saw, briefly through Thorn's eyes, the dragon dropping quietly below the canopy and landing in the clearing. _Be careful._

Murtagh smiled faintly. _And you… my dragon. _

Adriane nestled the bundle containing the dragon's egg safely in the tall grass and threw up her hood, taking a place beside Murtagh as the pair of them exited the forest and started up the path towards Dras Leona.

As they approached the gates, one of the guards stepped forward, holding out a hand to halt them.

"State yer name and yer business," the first soldier demanded.

"Th' name's Gareth," Murtagh stated haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. "M' here on trading business… shan't take too long."

"And where be your goods?" the guard demanded. "You carry nothing more than the clothes on your back. Unless you wish to trade those off, too…" He eyed them pointedly, his gaze lingering on Adriane, standing in the Rider's shadow.

Murtagh froze; he hadn't thought of that. Stalling for only a second, he recovered with a growl, stating fiercely, "You dare question the word of a noble? Our goods are currently in the care of a friend of mine, who owns a warehouse in town. We're here to retrieve them."

The soldier narrowed his eyes. "And what of this one?" He shoved a meaty finger in Adriane's direction. Murtagh waved a hand airily in front of him, feigning ignorance.

"Her name isn't of any importance. Jus' a slave for hire t'help me out, y'see." The soldier arched an eyebrow skeptically; Adriane ducked further into the confines of her hood, shrinking back in an attempt to remain unseen.

"Very well." The soldier stepped aside and allowed them to pass between the gates, keeping a wary eye at their backs until the two were lost amongst the crowd.

"Well played," Adriane stated with a smile, glancing up at Murtagh. He did not respond.

As they walked through the grimy, bustling street, Adriane glanced curiously up at him from beneath her hood. "Why are you helping me, Murtagh?"

The young Rider gave her a fleeting look before stating quietly, "Because I haven't done the right thing in a very long time."

Adriane blinked, unsure how to respond. She wasn't expecting such a response, especially from one such as Murtagh.

Glancing around with an air of slight apprehension, Murtagh cleared his throat, digging into a pouch around his waist and shoving several coins into Adriane's hands. "I'm going to purchase some supplies… food, and armor if I can afford it," he stated as a change of subject. "Take this and buy with it what you must, but be discreet; meet me back at the gates in an hour."

Adriane took the coins stoically, pocketing them and turning away without another word. Murtagh watched her go before setting off in the opposite direction.

* * *

Galbatorix paced in front of his throne like a caged animal. One hand painfully clutching the hilt of his sword, his furious glare penetrated the two soldiers kneeling in front of him.

"What… did you say?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

The first soldier—the prominence of his station displayed by the streak of crimson on his black sash—rose shakily, his stave trembling in his hand. "The Urgals, sir… the ones you sent after—"

"I did not permit you to rise!" Galbatorix screeched, throwing out his right hand and forcing the soldier back to his knees with a single uttered word of magic. The man groaned, sweat beading on his brow as he collapsed onto his hands and knees, stave clattering on the marble floor.

"A… apologies, my lord…" Galbatorix merely glared down at him; the soldier shuddered involuntarily under the King's gaze, gasping for breath before continuing. "The Urgals you sent to recover the stolen egg and the one who managed to make off with it…" Galbatorix visibly tensed at the statement, furious upon hearing the utterance of his failure to guard the last remaining egg, "…they've all been slaughtered, sir."

"What?" Galbatorix's eyes flashed angrily, and he took a step down towards the soldiers. "What do you mean, they've been slaughtered? This cannot be true!"

"With all due respect, sir…" The second soldier rose swiftly upon seeing his comrade shrink away in obvious fear. "We came across the scene, saw the massacre ourselves. To my knowledge, no other creature in Alagaësia—with the exception of the Ra'zac, perhaps—could kill so swiftly. No other creature except," he gave the King a meaningful glance, "a dragon."

Galbatorix's furious posture seemed to slacken considerably, melting into disbelief. "What are you suggesting?" he demanded. "That my own Rider has turned against me?" He laughed in derision. "He is bound by the Ancient Language to obey my every command!"

"Not at all, sir, merely that the Rider may have been _protecting_ the one who stole the egg… although his reasoning in doing so is beyond me." The soldier continued to stare at Galbatorix with a steady gaze. "As I was in the throne room at the time you sent him away, you did not ask the Rider to do anything other than return the egg and the one in question for stealing it… in your rage, you did not forbid him from, say… killing the Urgals sent to return this 'robber' or protecting them in the process." He dropped to his knee again in finality. "Sir."

Galbatorix's pale face flushed, partly in embarrassment that a mere soldier knew so much and partly in anger for his blatant mistake. He opened his mouth to retaliate against the soldier's haughty statement, but suddenly the doors to the throne room burst open and another soldier—younger and of a lesser rank than the two kneeling in front of the throne—burst into the room, stating, "My King! The one you summoned has arrived."

A sneer crept across Galbatorix's cold features. "Excellent. Bring him in."

"Yes s—" The young soldier's words ended in a choke, his hands flying to his throat. Galbatorix's eyes widened as he gripped the arms of his throne tightly, though he was not afraid of what was happening. The soldier's eyes rolled upwards as he clawed at his throat, gasping for breath; suddenly he was thrown forward and he collapsed onto the floor, unconscious.

An extended arm dropped, fingers uncurling from a strangling hold, and from the darkness beyond where the soldier once stood stepped a nightmare.

Bright yellow eyes, slitted vertically and adding light to an otherwise smooth, pale face flashed around the throne room in silent judgment; deep cerulean blue locks framed his slender face and tapered to points just below his shoulder blades. Dark runes of a forgotten age were carved into his face and arms; he was clothed in a long black cloak that fell to the knees of his just as dark leather pants.

The creature entered the throne room with long strides, arrogance in his step as he stopped before Galbatorix and bowed low before him. The two soldiers, terrified of the dark weaves of magic that clearly emanated from the man's presence, stumbled to their feet and ran for the door, slamming it shut behind them.

Galbatorix chuckled coldly, the discussion about the stolen egg already forgotten; the man before him would solve that problem quicker, and easier, than those pathetic Urgals ever could, dead or otherwise.

"Xarxes." The introduction was sardonically formal. "So glad you could make it… how was your trip?"

The demon grinned, his thin lips pulling back to reveal serrated teeth. "Painful, as always, my lord." His voice was deep and guttural. "Is there a reason for my summons?"

"There is, but I question your ability to fulfill it. Your brother did not even seem to succeed with the simple task I gave him. Could it be, that same failure is in your blood as well?"

Xarxes growled, his lips curling into a snarl. "Durza was no brother of mine. I am far more capable of this, or any task, than he ever was."

Galbatorix's eyebrows arched high in speculation. "Really? I doubt your abilities will prove sufficient to what I have in mind."

Xarxes merely grinned wickedly, offering no response. Instead he closed his eyes and, without a word, his body began to twist and distort, turning in on itself, growing larger; his hair shortened, thinned and changed color, and his eyes narrowed and took on a vaguely human shape. Even his clothing changed until he no longer appeared to be the man who first walked into the throne room.

A perfect imitation of Galbatorix now stood in front of the stunned King. Xarxes grinned and stated, in Galbatorix's own deep voice, "Do you doubt me now… my King?"

Galbatorix's response came out in a whisper. "You seek a Rider with a crimson dragon and a young female with very precious cargo. Bring them back to me, Xarxes… by any means necessary."


	8. Training Sessions

Chapter 8: Training Sessions

Adriane met Murtagh back at the gates of Dras-Leona in less than an hour, carrying nothing more than a small, tightly wrapped package. Murtagh himself balanced a bag of goods precariously on top of an outfit of light armor. They continued out of the city gates in silence, passing by the same soldiers on their way out.

The first city guard—the one who addressed Murtagh as they entered—grumbled as he passed, nodding at the bundle in his arms. "Those be yer goods, Gareth?"

"Aye," Murtagh grunted, not making eye contact with him as he ushered a partly concealed Adriane past. Keeping to the dirt road until Dras-Leona was out of sight once more, the two re-entered the dense forest, searching for the clearing where Thorn was hidden with the egg.

The crimson dragon's head lifted from his front claws as Murtagh and Adriane entered the clearing. _That did not take very long. _

_The city guards were growing too suspicious; we had to leave quickly._ Murtagh settled his purchases in a small pile next to the bundled egg, nestled safely between Thorn's claws. _I bought us some bread, cheese; other basic food supplies… not a lot, but enough to keep us from starving for another week or so. Also, a few scraps of meat for you, Thorn, since it will be hard to hunt around these areas without being seen. _

The dragon snorted, plumes of smoke drifting from his nostrils as he stretched his head forward to brush against Murtagh's arm. _Thank you, little one._

Murtagh smiled faintly, standing upright once and turned to face Adriane as she approached him. Brushing a few strands of hair from her face, she stated modestly, "Thank you for the purchases; it has been a while since I've had a decent meal." She gazed up at him gratefully, the hint of a smile gracing her lips. "If you don't mind, I bought a clean set of clothes as well… is there a spot where I could wash and change?"

"Of course." Murtagh pointed westward. "Leona Lake shouldn't be far from here, just beyond the tree line. Adriane…" He lowered his hand, catching her arm as she turned to walk away. She turned back to him, surprised. "Be careful."

Adriane stared at Murtagh curiously, taken aback by his actions. "I will…"

Murtagh cleared his throat, relinquishing his grip, his gaze drifting away from hers. "I'll, ah… I'll keep the egg safe until you return." Adriane nodded, turning away once more to disappear between the trees.

Thorn growled, his upper lip curling back slightly as he watched her go. _I still do not trust the young woman, Murtagh. _

The young Rider did not take his gaze off the spot where Adriane disappeared. "I know."

It took Adriane no less than a couple minutes to reach the bank of Leona Lake. Setting her package of clothing down on the rocky shoreline, she tilted her face towards the sky, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze brushed the lank strands of bronze hair from her face.

Dipping her fingers into the lake, Adriane shivered slightly at the brisk coolness of the water. Running her hands up and down her arms, Adriane gently washed away the excess dirt and grime that had been with her since her escape. She then ran her fingers through her knotted hair, smoothing the brown locks out as best she could. Now as clean as running around through the wilderness would allow her, Adriane glanced around the clearing a little uneasily before removing her torn breeches and shirt. Setting them aside, she unwrapped the package bought from Dras-Leona and pulled out a knee-length, one-piece outfit. She held it out in front of her, appraising it silently.

The dress was more fit for travel than it looked; as Adriane pulled it on, sleeveless straps wrapped snugly around her shoulders and falling loosely down her frame, ending just below her knees. The entire outfit was a deep forest green, with light brown lining the seams on the bottom, top, and along the sides, and a leather belt was wrapped casually around the waist.

Adriane scrutinized the outfit in her reflection in Leona Lake as she tugged on her calf-high boots. It was certainly a step up from her torn and muddied commoner's clothing, and with her skin and hair cleaned as well as she could manage she began feeling slightly more human again.

As Adriane returned to the clearing, the first thing she noticed was a little fire, near the center of the small clearing and kept low enough to avoid attracting attention. Thorn was nestled off to the side, firelight sparkling in his eyes as he watched the flames flicker lazily, Murtagh resting comfortably against his flank. In his hands were two arm-length branches that he was currently smoothing down with magic.

As Adriane watched, Murtagh slid his thumb and forefinger down the length of each branch, whispering, "_gëuloth du knífr."_ The sticks shimmered slightly, and a thin membrane encased the branches.

Adriane set her old clothes down next to her other bundle—checking to make sure the dragon egg was tucked safely inside—before asking, "What are you doing?"

Instead of answering, Murtagh stood up, tossing one of the warded branches to her. Adriane caught it, giving Murtagh an odd look before scrutinizing the stick in her hands. She ran her fingers lightly down it, surprised to feel a thin, filmy layer just above the bark.

Arching an eyebrow, she glanced back up at Murtagh. "What is this?"

"So we don't cover each other with bruises. It's a useful spell for training." Murtagh flourished his branch in a lazy arc over his shoulder before bringing it to a ready stance in front of him. "You're in a dangerous position right now, and we've already exposed ourselves enough by going into Dras-Leona. For some reason or another, if we're ever attacked, you're going to have to know how to defend yourself. So…" Grinning slightly, Murtagh motioned with one finger towards himself. "Attack me."

Adriane laughed incredulously. "You're going to teach me how to fight… with sticks?"

"Until you're able to fight with a real sword, yes."

"And what makes you think I'm helpless?"

The edges of Murtagh's lips curled up in what Adriane could have sworn was a smirk. "Managing to make off with the King's last dragon egg was sheer luck. If you think you can pull that off again, a score of his best soldiers on your tail and with a sword in one hand notwithstanding, then by all means, we can forget 'training with sticks', sit down and eat dinner."

Adriane frowned. She knew he was right. "Well there's no need to treat me like a child—" She trailed off in the middle of her own sentence as several scenes suddenly played, unbidden in front of her eyes.

_Screaming. Anguished and piercing. She ran, bidding her legs to move faster, but still she could not escape the screaming. _

_The blood of her best friend was splattered across her cheeks, mixed with too many shed tears. She wiped furiously at her face, fingernails raking against her skin. _

_And fire. So much fire… jumping from house to house, igniting the straw rooftops, destroying the town. Her entire life burning to ashes before her eyes. _

_She stumbled, landing amongst dead grass, mud and broken bodies. She could hear heavy footsteps behind her. Trembling fingers fumbled through the dirt. A sword. _

_She swung blindly over her shoulder, aiming towards the sound of the footsteps. A metal gauntlet grabbed the weapon in mid-swing, wrenching it out of her hands and tossing it aside. _

_The soldier grinned, drawing his own sword. Jenny's blood was still smeared along the blade. Her eyes widened, horror making her entire body go rigid, before she realized how futile it would be to resist. _

_There was nothing left to fight for: no mother and no father, no home and no happiness… _

_A cold laugh echoed in her ears. "How juvenile… you're nothing but a child." _

_A curled metal fist came in contact with her temple, and she thought no more. _

Adriane blinked, bringing herself back to reality. Murtagh stared at her curiously, the warded branch limp in his hand. "What's wrong?"

Adriane cleared her throat, hardly daring herself to speak. Trembling fingers brushed absentmindedly at the small scar running just alongside her eye. _Mother… Father… even Jenny… I wasn't strong enough to save them…_

"It… it's nothing." Adriane's voice shook slightly at the memory of the images that played before her eyes. She took a deep breath, shoving them to the edge of her consciousness before bringing the makeshift sword up in front of her. "Let's get this over with."

Murtagh nodded and, all pretenses forgotten, stepped forward, jabbing sharply towards Adriane in a simple attack. Responding instinctively, she swung her own branch downwards, driving Murtagh's stick into the ground. This, however, did not seem to phase the young Rider; continuing through with the initial momentum of his lunge, Murtagh spun around so that his back was to Adriane, at the same time pulling his makeshift sword from the ground. Swinging the branch around with him as he twirled, Murtagh caught Adriane on the shoulder. The entire routine took no more than several seconds.

Rubbing her bruised shoulder, Adriane cursed under her breath. Even the warded branches didn't prevent her skin from swelling where the stick had hit. Still glaring at Murtagh's back, she took advantage of his unguarded position to jab her own branch forward, intent on catching Murtagh on his shoulder blade. What she did not expect, however, was his swift reaction; turning around to face her once more, he brought his stick up in a defensive block, parrying Adriane's attack, shoving her away with their crossed branches and throwing her arms wide. Lunging forward, he rested his makeshift sword under her neck, grinning at Adriane's shocked expression.

"Don't focus yourself so much on brute force; you leave yourself open for attack!" Laughing now, Murtagh leapt backward as Adriane made a quick horizontal slash at his chest, a stubborn snarl gracing her features as she put him unexpectedly on the defensive. Leaping forward, Adriane took advantage of Murtagh's weak parry, aiming for his upper arm. The Rider faltered at the last second, unsure of her intentions, and the smack of wood on leather was heard a moment later.

Adriane grinned triumphantly as she stepped back; Murtagh frowned, massaging his upper arm before grudgingly admitting, "That was a decent attack."

Nestled amongst the trees, Thorn let out an amused growl, his lips curling back into what Murtagh could have sworn was a smile. He rounded on the crimson dragon, demanding, _What? _

_Don't focus yourself so much on brute force; you'll leave yourself open for attack._ Thorn's ivory fangs glistened in a deadly, if not comical grin as he quoted Murtagh's earlier statement. _Fighting with swords… how trifle and silly it seems through a dragon's eyes._ He nestled his head back between his claws. _Nonetheless, carry on. I confess I find your fight rather amusing._

Frowning, Murtagh turned back to Adriane, a hand still clenched over his arm. "A decent attack, like I said… but it wouldn't be enough in a real battle." Adriane's grin melted into a scowl, but Murtagh continued, "You can be the best fighter in Alagaësia—you can best Galbatorix himself—and, as a swordsman, still have one terrible weakness."

Adriane's eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but before she could ask the young Rider what he meant, Murtagh lunged forward again, barraging her with a wave of new, more powerful attacks. Adriane was instantly driven backwards in an attempt to fend off his intense maneuvers. Before she knew it, her back was pressed against the tree line; sweat beading on her forehead, Adriane fought as hard as she could to push Murtagh away, but his attacks were too powerful for her.

Taking another step backwards, Adriane briefly lost her footing as she slipped on an upturned root; she expected Murtagh to execute his final attack then, to show her how substandard her defense had been. At that moment however, Murtagh abruptly stopped; he winced away and dropped his branch, his hands flying to his back. Adriane faltered, concern smoothing over her features. Lowering her sword arm she took a step towards Murtagh as he groaned in pain, fingers groping at the back of his shirt. Adriane wondered what it was that could be throwing him into such a fit. An old scar, perhaps?…

As she opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, Murtagh suddenly ceased clawing at his back. Ducking under Adriane's slightly outstretched arm, Murtagh snatched his makeshift sword back up and swung it upward through her defenses. The branch lashed against the front of her shin and skimmed past her raised chin. Adriane, shocked at Murtagh's unexpected attack, fell backward in a hasty attempt to avoid the blow. Murtagh lunged forward, grabbing her wrist before she fell to the forest floor.

"Regret," Murtagh whispered gravely, pulling Adriane back up and releasing his grip on her arm. "A swordsman's one weakness is regret. When given the opportune moment to strike, if you falter even once before delivering the fatal blow to your opponent… the consequences could cost you more than just your life."

For a moment, Murtagh's mind flashed with images of his encounter with Eragon and Saphira on the high plateau at the Battle of the Burning Plains. As they fought, Murtagh had bested Eragon in every trick, ploy and maneuver; thanks to Galbatorix's training, he was now a better swordsman than even his brother. And, after he had torn Zar'roc from Eragon's unrelenting grasp, he could have defeated him; he could have done as Galbatorix had sent him into battle to do.

But he couldn't, just as he couldn't return with Adriane to the King as he had been instructed to do… and even with a just reason for doing so, he knew it would eventually cost him more than simply Galbatorix's wrath for disobeying.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the unwelcome memories, Murtagh stepped away from Adriane, dropping his makeshift weapon and turning away for the clearing again. Watching him go, Adriane merely stood there, frozen with shock. The lesson had transformed from lighthearted swordplay to a brutal training session in less time than it took her to blink. She didn't understand what her intentions were in his last maneuver, but somehow she could sense the true meaning—and pain—behind it. Willing herself to relax out of her defensive position, Adriane quietly followed behind Murtagh back to the clearing.

Thorn watched Murtagh walk past him with concerned eyes. The same unbidden images had flashed through his mind as well, and the crimson dragon enjoyed seeing no more than his Rider had. _Murtagh? Is everything all right? _

"I'm fine," Murtagh whispered as he sat down next to Thorn. Without another statement, he dug into the pouch containing the food purchased earlier in Dras-Leona. He tossed a scrap of meat up to Thorn, who snatched it out of the air with a lazy flick of his tongue, and pulled out two loaves of bread and cheese, setting them down before him.

Murtagh did not make eye contact with Adriane as she sat down across from him; he passed around a slice of bread and cheese to her, stating, "Here… this is all we have for tonight. We need to ration what little food we have, in order to avoid having to go into another village anytime soon and risk getting caught."

Adriane nodded, taking the meal stoically. She bit into the bread, her eyes never leaving Murtagh's face.

"You said you work for the King. Why?"

Murtagh looked up at Adriane, shocked at the bluntness of her question. He avoided looking at her as he searched for an appropriate answer; he did not wish to reveal too many secrets of his past to the strange woman quite yet.

"I… it wasn't a choice I had any say in. Thorn and I were… force into swearing fealty to the King. If I were allowed to have a say in my own life…" he snorted at the irony in his statement, "I wouldn't have placed this predicament on myself, that much is certain."

Adriane wondered if he regretted his choice in staying with her. "But you disobeyed Galbatorix's orders against me… you were supposed to return me to the castle, yet here you sit, sharing a meal and battle tactics with an enemy sworn by your own King."

"You aren't ready to be anyone's enemy yet." Murtagh smiled wryly at his play at humor, but he purposely avoided answering her question; not because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't sure if he could.

Changing the subject, Murtagh nodded towards the pile of light armor he had brought back from Dras-Leona. "That armor is for you." He eyed the new outfit Adriane wore for the first time, and despite herself Adriane felt a blush creeping across her cheeks. "Pray the need never comes for you to don it, but you will have it if it does."

Adriane nodded, her mind still racing with questions. Murtagh stood up before she could address them, putting the rest of the food away in his pack before removing his cloak and tossing it to her. Adriane caught it, surprised.

"Get some sleep… if I'm to get you away from Galbatorix, we have a lot of traveling to do on foot, as Thorn cannot carry two passengers yet."

Adriane swallowed, glancing down at Murtagh's cloak before sliding it hesitantly over her shoulders. A final question blurted from her lips before she could stop it. "Will you teach me how to swordfight more tomorrow?"

"If you wish."

Adriane nodded, a hint of sadness on her face as she watched Murtagh settle down next to Thorn and close his eyes. After a moment of watching him in silence, she lay down against the rough forest floor, resting her head against her pack; the dragon's egg nestled safely within.

As the pair drifted off into a dreamless sleep, the dimming firelight briefly illuminated the looming darkness beyond the surrounding trees. Thorn's glittering eyes carefully scanned the area around them, on the lookout for any possible danger, but what his gaze failed to see was a pair of bright yellow orbs peering ominously out at the two humans from the gloom.


	9. A Beautiful Disaster

_"I am rather the fallen angel, whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed. Everywhere I see bliss, from which I alone am irrevocably excluded. I was benevolent and good; misery made me a fiend. Make me happy, and I shall again be virtuous."  
_**—Frankenstein**

Chapter 9: A Beautiful Disaster

Later in the evening, Adriane woke to find the camp empty. With a yawn, she sat up and glanced around for any sign of Murtagh; the fire had long since extinguished, and the pale rays of moonlight coming through the trees revealed nothing of his presence. Adriane stood up, worry tugging at her as she passed Thorn, curled up at the edge of the camp, plumes of smoke emitting from his nostrils with every breath, and pushed past the tree line.

Her initial thought was that he had left the camp to hunt, and so Adriane did not call out Murtagh's name. She wandered aimlessly in between the trees for several minutes before a small clearing beyond the trees in front of her caught her eye.

Squinting through the dark, Adriane cautiously approached, taking care not to tread on the fallen leaves and branches under her feet. As she came closer to the edge of the tree line, a faint trickling sound reached her ears; curiosity getting the better of her, she gently pushed away the tree branches obscuring her view and gazed at what lay beyond.

It was a small pond, encompassed by the surrounding forest and cut off from the rest of Leona Lake. Rocks lay scattered around its shore and a small waterfall on the opposite side of the lake constantly replenished the sparkling blue water.

Adriane's eyes widened in wonder at the beauty of the scene before her. She could not tear her gaze away, but suddenly a movement near the shore of the pond caught her gaze. Shifting her feet, she squinted through the darkness to glimpse a better look at the shadowy figure.

Clouds that obscured the moon slowly drifted away, casting its feeble rays down to glitter upon the pond's unbroken surface. It was only then, as the water bounced the moonlight around and slightly illuminating the small clearing, that Adriane caught a glimpse of the figure's face standing on the shore.

Murtagh glanced over his shoulder at the tree line nervously as he removed his tunic, hanging it from its neck on the closest jutting branch; he quickly slid out of his boots and set them next to the trunk. Leaving his breeches on, Murtagh walked silently over the damp pebbles scattered along the shore and slowly submerged himself in the water.

Adriane gasped involuntarily, clasping her hands over her mouth. The moonlit reflections in the lake cast pale reflections in the water, illuminating Murtagh's pale skin. There, thrown into sharp relief, was a scar that ran the length of his back. Twisted, knotted and healed with time, the wound traveled from shoulder to hip, a dominating feature on his otherwise flawless skin.

Tears sprang from their hidden wells in the corners of Adriane's eyes; her hands trembled from the shock of what she had just witnessed. Murtagh's form blurred, no longer dominating her vision as the tears spilled over onto her cheeks.

_What sorts of atrocities have been committed against him that could have caused him that scar? _The questions swirled around in the haze that clouded her mind.

_How long has he been forced to keep this secret?_

Unable to bear the sight of Murtagh's mangled skin any longer, Adriane spun around and dashed through the trees, heading back towards the campsite.

* * *

Murtagh returned to the clearing shortly after Adriane. Settling down next to Thorn, he glanced suspiciously across the dying fire at Adriane. She shifted uneasily under his gaze, wondering if he somehow knew she had seen him in the clearing. She turned away from his glances, hoping he wouldn't see the truth in her eyes.

Murtagh cleared his throat at the uncomfortable silence that followed; he sensed that something was wrong with Adriane, but instead of asking, he attempted to make small talk.

"Why are you up so late?"

Adriane reluctantly turned her gaze to him, shrugging slightly as she brushed loose strands of hair from her face. "I couldn't sleep," she replied in a hushed tone.

Murtagh opened his mouth to reply to her rather blunt statement, but the dying embers of the fire danced shadows across her face, and he stopped short. Peering through the semidarkness, Murtagh noticed a thin scar that ran the length of Adriane's temple, just alongside her eye.

"Where did you get that scar?" The question slipped out before he could stop it. Murtagh flinched, hoping he hadn't offended her, but Adriane looked up suddenly, shock plain on her face. Her fingers unconsciously flew to brush lightly against the wound.

"Oh…" Adriane searched quickly for an answer. "An accident, when I was a child… a friend and I were playing, and I fell and cut my eye."

Murtagh nodded slowly, carefully watching Adriane's actions. She appeared to be upset about something; her uncertain actions as she replied to his question gave that much away.

_Perhaps your question bothered her,_ Thorn mentioned lazily, opening one bleary eye to peer at Murtagh.

The young Rider shrugged, puzzled. _Why, though?_

Thorn snorted lightly, closing his eyes again contentedly. _It is not for me to decide… maybe she isn't so different from you after all._

Murtagh furrowed his brows at the dragon's unusual response, but Thorn did not elaborate. "Well…" he sighed, standing up and turning his back to Adriane. It was late, and he didn't feel like arguing Thorn's elusive statement. "I suppose each of us has their memories from the past."

Adriane lifted her eyes to watch him as Murtagh set his bundle of clothing aside, nestling it next to the pile of goods near the edge of the clearing. A single thought came to mind as she remembered glimpsing the twisted wound along the length of Murtagh's back as he stood in the clearing.

"Like that scar on your back?"

Murtagh froze and straightened up quickly, whirling around and face her. Even Thorn's eyes opened at the question and he lifted his head off the ground, lips curling back into a silent snarl, but Adriane didn't flinch; her gaze remained fixed steadily on Murtagh even as he stared at her with a mixture of shock and anger.

He spoke after several strained seconds, his voice shaking slightly. "How do you know about my scar?"

Adriane stood up swiftly; she could tell her question had angered Murtagh more than she thought it would. "I woke up earlier and you weren't here… I went looking for you, and I saw you in the lake." Secretly, she wondered why her seeing his scar was such an issue to him.

Murtagh's fists clenched at his sides. "You weren't supposed to see that."

Adriane held her gaze steady, even under Murtagh's penetrating stare. "I didn't mean to," she stated, more defiantly than she intended. When Murtagh didn't respond, her features softened. "I'm sorry…" She wrung her hands together, shifting her eyes and faltering slightly. "What happened to you, Murtagh?"

Murtagh clenched his jaw tightly, his gaze hardening. "Nothing worth remembering," he growled, turning his back to her again. He knelt down, rummaging distractedly through his pack of supplies, not searching for anything in particular; he did not want to continue this conversation.

He heard Adriane's voice behind him, could feel her eyes boring into his back as he mindlessly tried to avoid her. "Murtagh…" she whispered, and her voice was closer this time; he glanced over his shoulder coldly to notice she was kneeling behind him. "What happened?" she asked again. "I can understand—"

"No, you can't!" The words came out as a shout from his lips as he sharply cut her off. Before he could stop himself, he jumped to his feet, turning fully to face her. Adriane stumbled to her feet as well, taking a step back from him, her face a mixture of shock and hurt at his outburst.

Murtagh took a deep breath, his eyes boring into her. "You wouldn't understand what it's like… what it's like to—"

Adriane's eyes flashed angrily and she stiffened, cutting him off harshly. "I wouldn't _understand?_" she demanded incredulously. "Tell me, Murtagh, how I wouldn't _understand_ what it's like." Murtagh stared at her, his rough demeanor falling away as she went on.

"I watched my mother and father die before my eyes, but you say I wouldn't understand. I saw the only home I ever knew burn to the ground around me, but you say I wouldn't understand." Angry tears spilled down her cheeks as she struggled to continue.

"I was forced to watch… as Galbatorix's soldiers slaughtered my friends and neighbors… all for the sake of tearing us away from our homes to make sure we would remain under his control. And still you say I wouldn't understand."

Adriane wavered slightly as she finished, shaking uncontrollably, but still she stood firm. Murtagh opened his mouth, harsh resolve forgotten immediately upon hearing his words. He fumbled for the right words to say, but before he could speak, Adriane cut him off.

"I understand… I understand more than you know."

Whirling around, she dashed away towards the edge of the encampment, darting between the trees and rapidly disappearing into the darkness. Murtagh watched her go, not moving; he couldn't have chased after her if he wanted to.

When the faint rustling of tree branches slowly died off, he collapsed to his knees, burying his head in his hands.

_What have I done?_

Thorn watched his distraught Rider quietly, eyes somber. He kept his gaze on Murtagh as he slowly stood up, wavering on his own two feet; strolling uncertainly across the encampment, he then nestled himself beside his possessions, and the dragon's egg Adriane had left behind.

Suddenly, an old memory forced its way into his mind, a memory of something he told Eragon, his own brother, seemingly ages ago:

_No stranger's life is more important than Thorn's or my own._

Murtagh slowly opened his eyes, exhaling deeply. Running a stray hand through dark locks of hair, he gradually rested his head back on the trunk behind him. He gazed past the canopy of trees at the foggy night sky as the stars glittered halfheartedly in his eyes. As he sat there in silence, a single thought lingered in his mind.

_Since when did my ill-fated saying no longer hold true?_

* * *

Adriane stumbled through the woods, half-blinded by angry tears. Her arms were covered in small scratches as she struggled to fight her way through the dense forest, pushing stray tree limbs and branches away as she went. She was furious, both with herself for being so thoughtless and with Murtagh for being the exact same way.

I shouldn't have gone looking for him, she thought heatedly to herself as she staggered onward. I should not have even agreed to travel with him; he works for the King, and I hardly even know him. I have been a fool.

Adriane realized, even as the thoughts ran through her mind, that she was second-guessing herself; she was wrong, and she knew it. She simply did not care to admit to herself just how much she had come to truly depend on him.

She came to a halt as the trees began to thin out around her. Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she glanced around in an attempt to get her bearings. She grew slightly uneasy, unable to recognize most of her surroundings; the entire forest looked the same, and she turned around towards the direction she had come from, struggling to figure out where she had placed herself.

Adriane almost let the tears come again when she realized just how far she had strayed from the campsite. Her frustrated growl threatened to elevate into a scream as she rested her back against the nearest tree, sliding down slowly to the forest floor. Her mutterings faded away into a whimper as she sat there, wrapped in the darkness of the forest.

Her arms dropped limply to her sides, clenched in fists as she glared up at the night sky. Her right fell into a shallow puddle of mud and Adriane glanced down angrily, shaking her hand to rid her dripping fingers of the dirty water.

Her movements slowed as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, and Adriane faintly noted the rather bizarre shape of the puddle. She squinted her eyes and leaned closer to it, studying its composition closely. It almost resembled—

Adriane stumbled to her feet, eyes darting around frantically. Clouds that shielded the moon drifted lazily away then, shedding feeble rays of light around the clearing, and gradually, more and more of them were revealed.

Tracks—footprints fresh in the mud, rushing in the direction she had come from. Heading straight for their campsite, for the dragon's egg… for Murtagh.

"Urgals."

The word came out in a terrified whisper, and Adriane whirled around, dashing frantically towards the encampment once more.

_You should have been kinder to her, Murtagh. She did not mean to see it._

Thorn's dark, brooding eyes followed Murtagh around the small campsite as the young Rider paced back and forth restlessly, hands clenched at his sides.

"Shade's blood…" he swore furiously, fingers trembling slightly as he ran his hands through his hair, "What was I supposed to say?

With a snarl, he kicked at the loose ashes strewn around the fire, sending a cloud of embers scattering into the air. Thorn snorted indignantly as the cinders burned and thinned out around him.

_Murtagh,_ he scolded, _stop being childish._ Murtagh whirled around angrily at the crimson dragon's blunt accusation, but Thorn did not let his Rider interject. _She has just shared a bitter part of her past with you, and most unwillingly, just as you did for her, and she is equally as upset. Do not fault her for that._

Murtagh curled his lip, but said nothing; he knew Thorn was right. He sighed in defeat, running a hand over his face. _What should I do?_

_Go after her,_ the crimson dragon replied simply. He blinked his eyes lazily, as if the solution were obvious.

Murtagh balked at the suggestion, and Thorn noted his apprehension. Thrusting his head into the encampment, he leveled his scrutinizing gaze with Murtagh's. _You wanted to make things right,_ he stated with a snap of his maw. _Sometimes that constitutes doing things you wouldn't necessarily want to, Murtagh._

Murtagh glared into Thorn's eyes for a moment longer before lowering his head. "You're right," he muttered, turning his back to the dragon. "I apologize, my friend; it has been a rather trying night."

Thorn snorted, sitting upright once more, a haughty stance that suggested the whole matter was foolish. _There is no reason to apologize; I understand why you must be upset. Parts of one's past can be… difficult to divulge to others._

Murtagh glanced over his shoulder, and with slight pity, Thorn noticed the tortured look in the young Rider's gaze.

"Thorn, this woman… I think—"

Whatever Murtagh thought of Adriane at that moment was cut off when a frantic thrashing was heard in the trees behind him. Suddenly, Adriane stumbled past him into the clearing; Murtagh whirled around in shock, an expression that quickly dissolved when he noticed the petrified look on the young woman's face. Her clothing was ragged, muddy and torn, and her breath came in short bursts; she looked up at him with pained eyes, and her next words chilled Murtagh to his core.

"Urgals… Murtagh, they've found us."

The low bellow of a hunting horn drowned out everything else in that instant, a terrifying sound that merely accentuated the urgency in Adriane's statement. Murtagh's desperate gaze fell on Adriane's and they stared at each other for one brief, intimate moment before they both broke away, tearing around the clearing in their haste to escape.

Stumbling through the clearing in his rush to get Adriane to safety, Murtagh snatched up the bundle containing the dragon egg. He dashed over to Adriane, who was gathering up what supplies they would absolutely need. He shoved the cargo into her hands and grabbed her arm, leading her roughly over to Thorn. The crimson dragon's head was whipping about, teeth bared in a snarl, on a constant lookout for the approaching Urgals.

"Adriane, you're going to have to ride Thorn!" Murtagh cried over another sounding of the Urgals' hunting horn. "I'm going to stay behind and keep the Urgals off long enough for us to escape!" He stuffed their supplies into the pockets on the side of Thorn's saddle and set the egg into Adriane's arms.

At Murtagh's statement, Thorn whirled around and snapped viciously at Adriane, curling thin lips back in a warning growl. _I will not have her ride me! I do not trust her, Murtagh. I am staying with you to fight._

Adriane cast a terrified glace at Thorn before turning back to Murtagh, eyes wide with fright. "Murtagh, I can't!"

"You've got to trust me, Adriane!" Murtagh's voice was growing desperate.

"But I don't know how! No, Murtagh!" she cried as he attempted one more to tug her towards the saddle. She jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Don't make me do this! I won't leave you alone to fend for yourself; let me stay with you, let me fight!"

"Adriane please, you have to go! Don't make me have to watch you get hurt again!"

Adriane stopped struggling and stared at Murtagh with wide eyes, stunned at his statement. It was if their previous arguments that night had never happened, as if they had never even met under such aggressive circumstances; in that moment, they were just Adriane and Murtagh, both desperate to keep one another safe.

Before Adriane could stammer out a reply, the band of Urgals came smashing through the trees.

Led by a ferocious-looking Kull, the monsters barreled their way into the clearing, weapons drawn, heading straight for Adriane and Murtagh. Supplies they did not have time to gather were strewn across the clearing as the band of Urgals scattered around on all sides, leaping over the dying embers of the fire and emerging from the darkness of the surrounding trees.

Thorn bellowed, snapping at any creatures foolish enough to come near him, but room on the forest floor was limited to the dragon, and Thorn could do little to protect his Rider as the Urgals closed in on them from all sides.

Murtagh knew he had next to no time remaining to get all of them safely out of the clearing. Whirling around, he shoved Adriane towards Thorn, drawing Zar'roc from its sheath; the blade sliced through the chest of an attacking Urgal, its body landing in the spot where Adriane stood only moments before.

Unable to think of an alternative, Adriane clambered awkwardly onto Thorn's back, the emerald egg resting safely in the crook of her elbow as she gripped the crimson dragon's saddle.

Fighting off what Urgals he could, Thorn twisted his head around to glance at Murtagh, his eyes glittering protectively. _Murtagh, are you sure about this? We can help you fight! There are too many for you to fend off alone!_

Caught up in the frenzy of battle, Murtagh could only shout, "Fly!"

With a fierce snarl, Thorn leapt into the air; with one powerful, downward stroke of his wings, he burst through the canopy and into the night sky, Adriane clinging desperately onto his back. The nearest Urgals were struck down as Thorn took off

Murtagh didn't see them leave. Zar'roc swung left and right, the crimson blade made even bloodier as the sword cut through Urgal flesh and bone. The monsters came at him from all sides; there seemed to be no end to them, but he kept fighting for the sake of Thorn and Adriane.

As another Urgal charged at him, Murtagh felt his strength waver; his sword arm wobbled feebly as he swung, and the Urgal easily knocked Zar'roc aside. There was a blur along the edges of his vision, but Murtagh had no time to react. There was a searing pain in his chest, and everything went black.

* * *

Seething with rage, Xarxes paced back and forth brusquely in the small clearing where Adriane and Murtagh had made camp. The band of Urgals accompanying him was spread out around the perimeter of the enclosure, shifting uncomfortably as they watched the raging demon that stalked throughout the clearing.

His booted foot shifted through the dirt, turning over the scattered remains of what the humans had forgotten in their haste to escape. Cocking his head, Xarxes examined the discarded blankets, food, and other necessities without interest. The items the two mortals had left behind served no purpose to him now, except as a blatant reminder that his quarry had eluded him.

His slender frame still trembled in the aftereffects of the change; he had shape shifted his form to that of a Kull in order to keep his true appearance hidden from the those Galbatorix had sent him to capture, and also to show the summoned Urgals who was in command. Xarxes curled a thin lip at the thought of having to take on the form of such a disgusting creature; now however, with his focus wavering and distracted, he had involuntarily morphed back into his original form.

He finally regained enough of his composure to speak. "How did they know we were coming?" Xarxes hissed through clenched teeth. He whirled around on the nearest Urgal, pointing one snow-kissed finger at the startled brute. "Answer me!"

The slow-witted animal hesitated and stuttered, searching for an adequate answer. It grunted, rolling its shoulders in the form of a shrug, before replying uncertainly, "Sir… perhaps they left before we had the chance to ambush them?"

"They knew we were coming, you fool!" he screeched, so loudly the birds roosting in the canopy overhead squawked indignantly and took flight. His hand flew to the transparent, rune-carved white hilt of the longsword kept belted at his side, and the addressed Urgal grunted in fear and instinctively shied away.

Xarxes drew his sword, R'izaymmir—a name that meant "Deathkeeper" in the Ancient Language—and, in his rage, threw it blindly at the Urgals. The deep cerulean blade shimmered in the dim moonlight as it silently sliced its way through the air before impaling itself through the stomach of the Urgal who had spoken. The gutted animal lurched backward, grunting in surprise and pain; Xarxes' strength was so great that R'izaymmir speared the Urgal all the way through, pinning him against the nearest tree trunk. Black blood and innards spilled out from his skewered stomach.

As their comrade gave one last squeal of pain and died, the other Urgals slowly backed away, terrified of the furious demon. Head bowed, Xarxes' shoulders still heaved as he struggled to regain his breath and his self-control. Finally, he gradually looked up at the remaining Urgals, tapered yellow eyes scrutinizing each of them individually through locks of blue hair with a deadly calm.

"Find them." The snarled order came from between clenched, serrated teeth. "On your own dim-witted heads, find them both. Kill the Rider if you must, but bring the woman and her egg back to me alive! _Begone!"_ Xarxes shrieked, and the Urgals scattered into the darkness of the surrounding forest.

The pale demon stalked forward, wrenching R'izaymmir cruelly from the tree trunk, through the belly of the dead Urgal. He wiped the monster's blood from the deep cerulean blade onto the grass at his feet before sheathing his longsword and following after the Urgals.


	10. The Last Journey Home

Chapter 10: The Last Journey Home

The first thing he felt as his mind slowly drifted back to consciousness was a stinging, searing pain in his chest.

Murtagh forced open heavy lashes, groaning at the effort it took for such an inconsequential movement.

His brown locks were clinging in strands to his forehead with sweat; he blinked rapidly to clear his foggy vision as he slowly began to take in his surroundings. He noted dimly that they were still within the boundaries of the woods, but at a different location; the trees were thinner and further between, and the layout of the land contrasted sharply with that of their previous location, closer to Dras-Leona. In the ensuing flight from the Urgals, they seemed to have traveled westward; rolling hills and plains now dominated where great forests once stood.

At present, however, their location didn't matter so greatly. Trembling fingers twitched unwillingly as Murtagh tried to assess his injuries. His arm felt like lead; it was a struggle for him to simply lift his hand as he glanced down, lightly fingering his torn tunic. Faintly, he noticed the dried blood staining the fringes of his frayed shirt, caused by the blunt tip of an Urgal's blade. He winced involuntarily as he ran his fingers down the shallow but painful wound.

A dark shadow passed over the edges of his vision, and a hand slapped his away as he struggled to examine the cut.

"Don't touch that," a brisk voice stated, and Adriane knelt beside him, a damp strip of cloth clutched in her slightly trembling hands. Murtagh looked up at her, but she did not meet his gaze, brown hair falling in front of her eyes as she pressed the cloth against the gash in his chest.

"What happened?" His voice was weak as he rested his head back against the ground.

Adriane finally looked up, meeting his gaze. "After you… sent us away, the Urgals overwhelmed you. Thorn circled the forest, and we watched the battle from above the canopy. When he saw you fall, he dove back into the clearing and killed the surrounding Urgals. The rest escaped."

Suddenly, all the memories came rushing back to him in a barrage of senses, and Murtagh felt lightheaded as he recalled the battle in his head. He shuddered involuntarily. "How did… how did we make it out of the clearing alive?"

It was Thorn who answered his question. He snorted, plumes of smoke escaping from his nostrils as he stated airily, _I carried you._

Murtagh turned to him, surprised. _How did you manage the weight?_

_I have grown stronger in our travels,_ the dragon replied simply. Murtagh appraised Thorn silently, a faint smile gracing his face. He reached up with a quivering hand and stroked Thorn's muzzle gently.

_Thank you, friend. I would be lost without you, surely._ Thorn closed his eyes, humming contentedly.

Adriane watched the exchange silently, her eyes flicking between Murtagh and the patched wound on his chest. "I suppose we're even now," she said finally, in an offhanded tone. "One good turn deserves another." She motioned to her leg, where the Urgal arrow had pierced her calf.

Murtagh turned his gaze to her. "Thank you… for coming back."

Adriane sat back, staring at him levelly. "You don't always have to be the hero, you know," she stated bluntly. "What you did was suicide… taking on all those Urgals, and a Kull among them! Thorn and I could have stayed behind to help."

Murtagh glanced over at her, eyebrows arched skeptically. "The only kinds of heroes are dead ones."

Adriane did not reply.

Murtagh sighed, pushing himself up on his forearms. "So, where do we go from here?"

Adriane scowled at him. "You're in no condition to go anywhere."

"Do you have a better suggestion?" Frustrated, Murtagh struggled to sit upright without putting pressure on his chest wound. "We certainly can't stay here, considering Galbatorix, the Urgals, and virtually every other creature under the Empire's rule knows where we are by now. Gods above and below, how did they even find us in the first place?"

Adriane gritted her teeth against Murtagh's clipped tones. "Who knows? I'm sure the King has his ways of finding those he wishes to capture."

"But we've _been_ discreet… besides, I don't think Galbatorix would want either of us back dead, and those Urgals attacked to kill." For the second time, Murtagh noted to himself. Twice now he had to fend for his life against the brutish monsters. He wondered if Galbatorix was somehow losing his well-controlled hold over them.

"Obviously we haven't been discreet enough."

"How can one be more discreet than keeping to the shadows of a forest and sleeping on the ground?" Murtagh threw his hands wide, growing more frustrated at the fact that they had more questions than answers.

"Perhaps there are other unknown forces that are working for Galbatorix as well," Adriane commented sagely.

Murtagh pursed his lips, not willing to accept the fact that he had more than just Urgals and a paranoid King to deal with. "Impossible… I'm sure I would have known if there were others involved in Galbatorix's plan."

Adriane sat back, crossing her arms. "Fine, then. What do you suggest we do?"

Gradually pushing himself up into a sitting position, Murtagh rested a hand tenderly on the bandages wrapped around his torso. He sighed, not meeting her gaze, feeling guilty for the outburst. "Well, there's no sense in avoiding it, but we're going to have to stop again at the nearest city."

Adriane shifted uncomfortably, worried about his suggestion. "We already did that once in Dras-Leona… we'll risk being noticed."

"I don't like the idea either, but we have no choice. We lost nearly all of the supplies we purchased last time in the Urgal attack, and what's in Thorn's saddlebags isn't nearly enough for both of us." Murtagh slowly got to his feet, staggering slightly as he did so. "To make matters worse, I'm out of coin, and stealing what we need won't exactly help us if we want to remain unseen."

Adriane wrapped her arms around her legs, eyes following Murtagh as he paced around the clearing. "Do you know anyone who might be able to help us?"

Murtagh laughed derisively. "No one who wouldn't try to kill me first. Do you?" he asked with a touch of sarcasm, not expecting an answer.

Adriane bit her lip. Glancing uneasily up at Murtagh, she said slowly, "Yes… I do."

Murtagh stopped pacing and turned to face her. "You do?" he asked, almost incredulously. "Who?"

Adriane stood up, brushing the dirt from her legs. "An aunt… my mother's sister.  
She lives in Teirm, along the coast. From here, it's not far… maybe a couple days' ride north from here, then west through the Spine."

"I thought you said your family was dead," Murtagh inquired, without malice.

"I said my mother and father were dead. I still have distant family, however few and far between they may be, scattered throughout Alagaësia." Adriane shrugged.

Murtagh crossed his arms, thinking rapidly. "Can this aunt of yours be trusted?"

Adriane smiled faintly. "If you knew her you wouldn't ask that question." She sighed, scratching the back of her head distractedly. "Either way, I don't think it matters; we need food, clothing, a place to hide…"

"It's a desperate move," Murtagh said pointedly.

"We are desperate," Adriane fired back. Murtagh sighed.

_She has a point,_ Thorn commented quietly. Murtagh turned to face him, resting a hand on the dragon's scaly hide.

"I don't like it either," Adriane stated, voicing Murtagh's concerns. "But I would not mention the idea if I thought we had any other options."

Exhaling deeply, Murtagh nodded. "Very well… we will go to Teirm to see this aunt of yours. However, there are extreme precautions we must take in order to avoid being seen, and we shouldn't remain longer than we have to… we'll risk being recognized."

Adriane agreed, the ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "We can discuss it along the way."

* * *

With Thorn watching over them from high above, the pair traveled north towards Teirm, keeping in the shadows of the Spine and avoiding the main roads as often as possible. They thought of a variety of scenarios that might allow them into Teirm without being seen; all of them ended in the possibility of recapture.

They traveled throughout the day; as they entered the mountains, the terrain changed dramatically, forcing them to take more drastic methods to remain unseen. Thorn, however, for the first time since his recapture, enjoyed himself by flying around and between the peaks of the mountains without fear of being spotted.

By the end of their second day of travel, Thorn contacted Murtagh. _Teirm is but several leagues from your current position. You are just now reaching the edge of the Spine; from there, a number of roads lead out and towards the city._

Murtagh relayed the message to Adriane, who suggested they stop for the night and enter the port city at first light. Both were glad to be out of the treacherous shadow of the Spine; and, to make matters easier, both felt they had finally come up with a plan to enter Teirm without the fear of being recognized.

* * *

As Adriane and Murtagh emerged onto the main road at first light the following morning, they appeared to be two completely different people.

Adriane's hair was pulled back into a high bun on top of her head; she wore Murtagh's cloak draped around her shoulders, and walked with an air of regal superiority about her.

Murtagh, by contrast, was barely recognizable as himself—which is exactly what he intended. His hair was knotted and clumped in places, and mud was smeared along his arms, neck and face, giving him a dirty, disheveled appearance. He carried one of Thorn's saddlebags over his shoulder, forcing him to walk with a stoop and a limping gait.

Thorn had agreed to stay behind, hidden in the mountains with the emerald dragon egg, albeit reluctantly. _I dislike this constant game of cat and mouse,_ he growled to Murtagh as the pair left. _Be quick with your business, Murtagh, and let us be on our way._

As he and Adriane approached the gates of Teirm, Murtagh wholeheartedly agreed with the crimson dragon; he still harbored bad feelings about Adriane's idea to venture into the port city, but he also knew that they had no other choice. Still, he was constantly alert to his surroundings in case there was trouble.

The pair followed the main road up to the entrance of Teirm, neither of them speaking to each other; for that was all a part of their ruse. Approaching the gates, Adriane held her chin high as she ushered Murtagh along behind her with a look of slight disgust. The guards—there were at least half a dozen standing idly at the entrance—watched with slight amusement as Adriane approached. She smiled without showing her teeth, a move that suggested such actions were beneath her.

"What be yer business in Teirm today, madam?" the head guard questioned, stepping in front of the pair as they came to a stop. Silently, Adriane thanked all the gods, known and unknown; so far, her guise as a noblewoman seemed to be working.

She adopted a slightly indignant but surprised look. "Why, trade of course," she commented with the hint of an accent. "Is Teirm not the most thriving port city in all of Alagaësia?"

"It is, madam," the guard replied, not without suspicion. "Where did you arrive here from?"

Adriane waved her hand airily. "We came north, from Carvahall. We were traveling along the Spine, heading for Dras-Leona—that's where my father lives, you see—and we decided to stop here to re-supply and to sell some of our goods to see if we could make a few crowns. My caravan is parked alongside the main road; I did not deem it necessary to bring it all the way into town."

"I see…" the guard said slowly, still not convinced. "And who be this?" He motioned vaguely to Murtagh, stooped behind Adriane. She snorted in disgust, glancing briefly over her shoulder in open contempt.

"One of my father's slaves… he was sent with me to manage my possessions." She grabbed Murtagh's arm and shoved him forward in front of her, and he purposely dropped the bag slung over his shoulder. Adriane gave a cry of mock rage.

"You clumsy son of an Urgal! Pick that up at once! If anything is broken, it'll be thirty more lashes when we arrive home! Ooh, if father hears about how poorly you've behaved since we've been gone…"

She clicked her tongue, shaking her head in disapproval as she turned back to the guard, batting her eyelashes sweetly. The man nodded in approval.

"Be on yer way, madam. Jus' remember that our gates close at dusk, so if yer outside the walls at th' time, you'll have to wait till mornin' to get back in."

He stepped aside to let Adriane pass. She curtsied politely, still smiling.

"Thank you kindly, sir. We shouldn't be long."

Teirm was a busy city by nature, as its ports allowed easy access for ships to dock and make trade with the citizens before moving on to the next city; as soon as they entered, Adriane and Murtagh were swept up in a crowd of people making early morning runs down to port, eager to make deals with whichever ships had docked in the city for the day.

Once they felt they were safely hidden in plain sight, Adriane grumbled and tugged at her hair, pulling it out of its bun. "That was more difficult than I anticipated."

Murtagh stood up straight, brushing the dirt from his arms and face. He accepted his cloak back from Adriane, asking, "Do you think they suspected anything?"

"No. I expect I fooled them rather well."

"Good." Murtagh slipped his cloak around his shoulders. "Which way to your aunt's?"

Adriane nodded towards a nearby alleyway of houses. "I believe it's in that direction… I can't remember where specifically, but it wasn't too far from the city walls. I should recognize it if I see it." Murtagh nodded, and the pair took off down the alley.

As they walked down the cobbled streets, several posters tacked crudely to the brick walls caught Adriane's attention. Curious, she slowed to examine them.

One, depicting a boy approximately her age with dirty blonde locks, was the most prominent and widely displayed. The words 'Eragon Shadeslayer' were scrawled across the bottom. The second was a man not much older who looked faintly like Eragon; he looked disheveled wore a slight, unshaven beard. The poster named him as Roran. An unseemly amount of crowns was being offered for the capture of both men.

Adriane eyed the wanted notices uncomfortably. "Why are we not up there? If the King knows who we are…"

Murtagh did not look up. "Because he does not want his people to know of his failure. If they knew you possessed the last free dragon egg, it would give them hope. Galbatorix does not want to let his kingdom have hope."

His comment seemed to sober Adriane's feelings, and she gazed at the posters almost sadly as they continued past.

Murtagh fell behind as Adriane walked up and down the busy street, searching for her aunt's house. Her comments about the posters—about his own brother—troubled him.

He disliked being so vulnerable and out in the open in a place like Teirm, where anyone could recognize him; the people of Alagaësia may not be the most educated, but they were smart, and if a soldier of the King was looking for either of them, a citizen wouldn't hesitate to pull up the memory of two traveling companions who fit the description. Murtagh pulled deeper into the confines of his hood, taking no small comfort in the fact that the dirt smeared on his face masked his more defining features.

Due to its costal location, Teirm was a bustling, overpopulated city—exactly the reason why Adriane's plan was so risky. However, Urgal attacks or no, Murtagh reluctantly agreed with her on one point: they would not last much longer without adequate food, clothing and shelter.

Dodging a group of Teirm's citizens bustling their way past him towards the docks, Murtagh came to an abrupt stop next to Adriane as she paused at a rather tall, three-story house nestled at the end of the road. It had an elegant exterior, with clean white tiling, blue window shutters and a large oaken front door.

"I believe this is the one," Adriane commented in an undertone, hesitation in her voice as she glanced over at Murtagh. He scowled.

"You mean you don't remember?"

"The only times I visited were when I was little," Adriane said defensively.  
Aunt Marian likes to remain… blissfully unaware of anything outside her cozy seaside mansion," she explained with barely concealed scorn.

"Even of her family?"

"So it would seem." Adriane frowned. "Maybe that is why she never married. She never bothered herself with the concerns of my mother and her family—though I expect she regretted the decision when she received news of her only sister's death." She motioned towards the house. "Shall we?"

Murtagh exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment before nodding in agreement. Adriane watched him closely.

"Do you remember our plan… the story we are going to tell her? Remember, she never knew I had been taken by Galbatorix… she thought I left to live in another desert town after the deaths of my parents." She paused. "Which is what I would have done, if not for…" She trailed off uncomfortably, looking down at the cobbled street.

Murtagh did not reply to her last comment; he didn't know how to. He knew all too well what it felt like to be torn away from everything he once knew. He cleared his throat. "I remember the plan."

They approached the house together. Adriane raised her hand to knock and, hesitating for the barest fraction of a second, Murtagh wrapped an arm awkwardly around her waist. Adriane struggled to fend off a sudden wave of embarrassment as she knocked on the door.

They did not have to wait for long. After a moment the heavy oak door swung open and a short, plump woman peered out into the street.

She was dressed lavishly, with numerous rings adorning her fingers and a long necklace wrapped around a rather non-existent neck. She wore a corset several sizes too small, pushing ample amounts of skin up around her chest. Her dress fell in folds around her ankles; her feet, in turn, were wrapped in silver-lined shoes. Like Adriane's had been, he lengthy dark brown hair was pulled back into an elegant bun, accentuating the faint streaks of gray that ran through it.

When the woman laid eyes on Adriane and Murtagh standing on her doorstep, she gave an alarmed cry and rushed out to meet them. "Oh, gods above and below! Adriane?" Her voice was startlingly high pitched, belaying her rather round appearance.

Adriane smiled through clenched teeth. "Hello, Aunt Marian."

Marian was a buzz of activity as she embraced her niece tightly. "Adriane! Oh, Adriane I can't believe it's really you! Look how much you've grown… you were just a little girl the last time I saw you! Oh, you look so much like your mother… and you have your father's eyes. My goodness, how the time flies! I really can't believe—"

Taking a deep breath, Adriane slowly wrapped her arm around Murtagh's. The action did not go unnoticed by her aunt, and Marian stopped her tirade of exclamations to stare at Adriane suspiciously.

"Auntie… I want you to meet someone." Adriane's voice shook slightly as she spoke.

Marian turned to Murtagh as if noticing him for the first time. "Oh? Who is this?"

Adriane smiled tightly. "This… this is my fiancé."

"The name's Gareth, madam." Murtagh stepped forward, bowing deeply. "It is truly an honor to finally meet you; Adriane has told me so much."

"Oh!" Marian exclaimed once more, flushing at the unexpected praise. Her heavily colored lips pulled into a bemused smile. "Adriane, this is wonderful!" She rushed forward, cupping Adriane's face in her hands, patting her cheeks in a motherly fashion. "I am so happy for you, my dear! When did this happen?"

"Recently," Adriane replied with another false smile. "Gareth and I met when I moved away from home after…" She trailed off, shrugging absentmindedly. Marian gave her a watery smile.

"Your mother would be so proud to see you right now, dear. A beautiful young woman, on the arm of a handsome stranger—" She grinned coyly, and Murtagh flinched inwardly. "But this is not discussion to be kept on the streets! Do come inside, dears; we can talk inside."

* * *

Throughout the course of the evening, Adriane and Murtagh sat with Marian at her kitchen table, spitting out every lie about themselves that came to mind. Sticking to the guise of a young engaged couple was embarrassing and awkward for both of them, but it was safe, and no suspicious questions would be asked.

Adriane finally explained to her aunt that they had to leave at dawn the following morning—in order to return home in time to prepare for the wedding, of course—and, before they could even ask, Marian insisted she he help them restock for the journey home.

"Alagaësia is a dangerous place these days," she said seriously, lowering her voice as she bustled around in her lavish kitchen. "Urgals are wandering the land freely now, you know… I hear they've even gone so far as raiding some of the smaller settlements. Why the King doesn't do something about those monsters…"

Adriane and Murtagh glanced at each other nervously. Neither one bothered to inform Marian of the turmoil Alagaësia was in as the realm teetered on the edge of open warfare. As Adriane suggested, they let her remain blissfully unaware.

"It is a shame you two couldn't get married here," Marian continued, turning to face them with a frown. "I don't understand—"

"We want to keep it quiet, Auntie," Adriane stated hastily. The last thing they needed was Marian demanding to attend a false wedding. "It'll be just us and the town elder to read us our vows. We'll be sure to come back and visit when things settle."

Murtagh didn't like the sound of that last statement. Adriane's bold-faced lie was growing by the minute; he decided to stop it before things got too out of hand.

Standing up, Murtagh bowed politely to Marian before inquiring, "Madam, we have traveled far to see you and we are tired from our journey. Do you perhaps have a spare room we may rest in for the night?"

Aunt Marian looked flustered, and she stumbled over her words for a moment before stuttering, "Of… of course! How silly of me… there is a guest bedroom on the second floor. If you wish, you may sleep there tonight."

Marian had finished stuffing food into several small packs, and she placed these on the table in front of Adriane. "Here you go, darling; this should be enough to get you home again." She walked around the table as Adriane stood up, and Marian gave her a brief hug and a peck on the cheek. "I'm so glad you came to visit, dear, if only for a day. It was wonderful to see you again."

Adriane smiled uncomfortably. "It was good to see you too, Auntie."

Murtagh, wanting to avoid any sort of contact with Adriane's extremely forward aunt, decided to leave when the hugging started. Quietly, he gathered up the bag he brought with him, as well as the packs Marian offered, before heading towards the stairwell. He stopped, however, forgetting his manners, as well as his disguise. He cleared his throat.

"Erm… are you coming… dear?"

Adriane almost laughed at how absurd Murtagh's statement sounded, and she lowered her head to hide her grin. "Of course." She looked up at Marian. "Goodnight, Auntie."

"Goodnight, sweetheart." Marian smiled in a way that reminded Adriane of her mother, and she had to keep herself from flinching. She turned away before more heartaches from her past could resurface, and followed in Murtagh's footsteps as she ascended the stairs.

Murtagh was setting his things down on the bed in the guest bedroom when Adriane found him. She stood uncertainly in the doorway, and he turned to face her as she commented quietly, "Thank you… for playing along."

Murtagh simply shrugged before returning to the task of unpacking his travel bag. "It was not so difficult. We got what we came here for. If we leave at dawn, no one will have the chance to notice our presence here."

"Yes…"

Murtagh continued pulling things out of his pack with unnecessary force as he continued. "Once we get back into the safety of the woods, we can get back to…" He trailed off. Not even he knew what it was they were supposed to be doing. Buying time, perhaps? And for what? What had time given either of them, except loneliness and a world full of hurt?

Murtagh cleared his throat to cover the hesitation in his voice. "Galbatorix won't stop looking for you until he gets his dragon egg back into the safety of his castle. He still believes Thorn and I to be looking for you. However, Galbatorix is not a patient person; we need to come up with a plan to give him a reason to be."

Adriane had the feeling that Galbatorix wasn't exactly the person Murtagh's thoughts needed to dwell on for any length of time; therefore, she opted not to reply, except to say, "Of course… we can discuss it when we return to the woods."

Uncomfortable silence followed. Adriane glanced around the room, her eyes lowered. She seemed embarrassed. "Uhh… there is only one guest bedroom…"

"Where are you going to sleep?" Murtagh asked, before he could think.

_Murtagh!_

Thorn had been silent until now, and he decided this was the place to intervene. Murtagh visibly jumped at the dragon's sudden outburst.

_Don't be so rude!_ he scolded, his tone oddly patriarchal.

_Since when did you start enforcing manners?_ Murtagh grumbled. Thorn did not reply.

Adriane looked offended, but before she could protest, Murtagh cut in again. "You can sleep on the bed," he sighed, even as he spread his cloak on the floor.

Adriane looked relieved she did not have to address the issue any further. Setting her personal effects aside, she climbed into the overly frivolous bed as Murtagh laid himself down on the ground, keeping his back to Adriane. She glanced down at him curiously as she pulled the covers around her.

"Goodnight."

Murtagh did not reply.


	11. Waking The Demon

_"My eyes are bleeding from the fear that's inside,  
You sealed your demise when you took what was mine  
Don't try and stop me from avenging this world,  
No voice to be heard_

_Waking the demon, where'd you run to?  
Walking in shadows, watch the blood flow_

There's not much longer, so don't try and fight  
Your body's weakening, walk to the light  
Those painful times, so alone, so ashamed  
I'm not coming back, there's nothing to gain."  
**Bullet For My Valentine—"Waking The Demon"**

Chapter 11: Waking The Demon

There were perks to being unnatural, Xarxes realized with a grim smile as he stalked through the thinning forest of trees running parallel to the coast.

The first and most primal of these was his heightened senses and awareness. After losing his quarry in the ensuing battle the night before—instigated by the brutes who called themselves Urgals, acting on an order Xarxes had not given—he had thought the woman and Rider lost to him. However, as he searched the edges of the Spine for any trace of his prey, he realized those senses were the same ones he was putting his faith in now.

Pausing at the base of a nearby tree, Xarxes stretched a pale hand out to pluck a leaf from its stem; holding it between his fingertips, he crumbled the leaf into pieces, crushing the remains in his palm. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the damp forest and everything that surrounded it.

He recognized the scent of his quarry only vaguely; he knew Adriane and Murtagh had passed this way only yesterday, heading deeper into the Spine in order to avoid detection. Or perhaps they went to Teirm or one of the other costal cities, seeking food and shelter. Either way, they could not escape him for long.

However, the scent of the surrounding forest awoke a different part of his subconscious, and a part Xarxes struggled for years to forget. As he stalked in the direction his prey had taken, the memories of his previous life came rushing back to him in a flood of unwelcome memories…

* * *

The boy known as Cayden was born to a woman who lived on the outskirts of the Hadarac desert, amongst a group of settlers too poor to afford a life any better than nomadic.

He had never known his father. It was whispered amongst the families that once, years ago, they had passed a traveling group of soldiers and merchants who were headed for the Capital. The settlers had suffered through a drought that summer, and their crop supply was low; nothing to trade with meant no money for food, clothing and shelter. The merchants were not willing to aide them, but Cayden's mother was the only one brave enough to beg.

Desperate to feed her child, she had needed the money, and the soldier whom she approached had been more than willing to aide her… provided she return the favor.

But of course, they were only whispers.

Cayden's mother had been a kind woman, with luscious black hair that fell to her waist and healthy, golden brown skin, tanned from years of being under the hot Alagaësian sun. Even though she was only a peasant, she would have been considered beautiful even amongst the noble ladies of Galbatorix's court. Despite the lack of support that should have come from her son's father, she had raised her only son with a sense of pride that was rarely seen amongst the nomadic settlers.

She never learned about his ability to shapeshift.

In Cayden's world, anyone unnatural was labeled as a sorcerer and condemned to death. When he discovered that he had the ability to change form, his ability terrified him at first; it took many months of practice to keep his "art" under control. When he became angry or upset—at any time when his emotions ran high—his body would unwillingly begin to change.

It hurt him to hide from his tribe—and his own mother—but he knew it was necessary if he wished to remain with them.

Cayden was different, and he hated himself for that. Like everyone else he lived with, all he wished for was to find a place to belong in.

It was here, nestled amongst strangers, that Cayden met Dejah.

To Cayden, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Dejah was petite and slender, with shoulder-length red hair that contrasted sharply with her pale complexion. Her sharp green eyes gave her a feline-like appearance, belaying her quiet and gentle nature.

Like Cayden, Dejah was considered unnatural. The traders labeled her a witch and a sorceress, owing to her uncanny ability to translate the ancient texts of spell books, and to divine the meanings of mysterious, fortune-telling tools such as dragon knucklebones and tarot cards.

However, the traders kept her around to utilize her strange gifts to earn a few crowns from the naïve and the foolhardy. Dejah never seemed to mind; they, at least, had given her a home. Cayden was the only person to ever give her a reason to stay.

Perhaps this was why they had felt so drawn to each other, at least initially; they were the same in their differences, an outcast and a sorceress who struggled to find acceptance and instead found each other.

Dejah's ancient scrolls fascinated Cayden, despite her warnings to avoid them—it takes a practiced tongue to control such powerful entities, she claimed. Still, Cayden's curiosity was not sated; he yearned to know more, desperate for an explanation as to why he had been born different.

One night, after everyone had fallen asleep around the fire and Dejah was tucked away safely in her cot, Cayden stole away with her small pack of books and scrolls. He opened the first ancient text—a book, bound in black with scrawled, crimson lettering—and eagerly began to read. The chilling words fell from his lips as he brought macabre spells and sinister demons to life.

Dejah, awakened by Cayden's deadly words whispering in her mind, sat upright in her cot. She was startled to see her love sitting cross-legged at the edge of the campsite with her books in his lap.

She had screamed at him to stop, but by then, it had been too late.

The boy known as Cayden died that night. The evil spirits that had been awakened consumed him, body and soul, transforming him into a monster.

No one, not even his beloved Dejah, survived the night. The newly reborn Xarxes slaughtered everyone in the camp to quench the spirits within him. He left without a second look back at the life he once lived.

* * *

As he came back to his senses, Xarxes found himself slumped against the nearest tree, one hand covering his face. He shook his head vigorously to rid his thoughts of the unwelcome barrage of memories; how foolish he was to let his past haunt him! He growled softly in annoyance as he glanced around at the unfamiliar surroundings. His trance-like wanderings had brought him to a different part of the mountains.

His lips slowly curled into a grin as the thinning trees and early morning shadows revealed the well-fortified port town of Teirm. Perhaps the reminiscent memories of his past life hadn't simply arisen to torment him.

Patience was another attribute of Xarxes' unnatural mind. He blended himself into his surroundings as he watched two cloaked figures exit the front gate, heading for the road.

He would wait for his quarry to come to him.

* * *

The following morning, Adriane awoke to an empty room. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she got quietly out of bed. Sidestepping Murtagh's discarded cloak, still on the floor where he had slept, she headed out into the deserted hallway.

What little light had broken from the horizon at dawn spilled into the house's spacious upper floor as Adriane approached the stairwell. As she quietly descended, she noticed Murtagh in the kitchen, quickly gathering up the goods Marian had given them the night before.

He was clearly in a rush to leave the city before Teirm's citizens awoke, but as Adriane approached him, she didn't get the chance to ask why. Upon noticing her, Murtagh pressed a finger to his lips, urging her to be quiet. Gathering the packed goods, he approached Adriane and pressed the items into her hands, whispering, "Take these and head outside. I will gather our belongings from upstairs and meet you there."

Adriane disliked being ordered out of her own home—perhaps more than she disliked leaving without saying goodbye to her aunt—but she understood Murtagh's urgency. The King's eyes were everywhere, and they had already risked exposing themselves once before, in Dras-Leona. They needed to get back into the mountains as quickly as possible; they had what they came to get, and there was no reason to stay.

Adriane glanced once over her shoulder at her aunt's house as she stepped out onto the street, knowing full well that she may never see it again. Any grief she felt was quickly overrode by a simmering anger. Galbatorix had taken everything from her: a life, a family, a home. She had been forced to live as a fugitive, sleeping on the forest floor as she wandered the land with a crimson dragon and a man she hardly knew.

Adriane still did not trust Murtagh, but for some reason he continued to help her evade the Empire's clutches, an act that was in direct defiance of his orders. He very well could have turned her in by now, as well as return Galbatorix's precious dragon egg. Perhaps, Adriane wondered, Galbatorix had torn his life apart as he had hers; perhaps this was Murtagh's way of returning the favor, by helping her escape with the egg.

Perhaps she had been wrong.

Adriane jumped as the front door opened behind her and Murtagh stepped out, his cloak and her effects draped over his crossed arms. In the dim morning light, he looked as exhausted as she felt; there were dark circles under his eyes, and his hair was disheveled, falling in clumps in front of his pale face.

"Are you ready?" he asked, in a tone that suggested it didn't matter either way. Adriane looked away, as if afraid his piercing eyes could read what she had just been thinking about him.

"Yes… I have everything Aunt Marian gave us."

Murtagh nodded, still staring at her. "I am sorry to make you leave so suddenly."

Adriane shrugged, turning away from him, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ears. "It doesn't matter to me. Let's get out of here."

Murtagh pursed his lips at her rather short answer, but before he could reply, Adriane had already taken off across the street. Gathering up their supplies, he hurried to catch up with her.

The ports were bustling with early morning activity, but Teirm was otherwise quiet as Murtagh and Adriane made their way to the city's front gates. They used the guise as noblewoman and servant to escape detection at the entrance to the city, as they had done the day before. The guards had since changed shifts—sparing them another confrontation with the officers they had encountered the day before—and no one stopped to question them as they slipped beyond Teirm's well-fortified walls.

As they reached the end of the path and continued into the shadow of the Spine, the relief on Murtagh's face was plain to see as he threw back his hood and called out mentally to his dragon. _Thorn, we're out of the city. Where are you?_

_I am here._ The crimson dragon sent Murtagh a mental image of his location—a forested grove far enough into the mountains and away from prying eyes—and, like Murtagh, his anticipation was palpable. _Will you return soon?_

_We're on our way now._

Thorn snorted impatiently, clearly unhappy with having to be separated from his Rider for so long. _Hurry, Murtagh... and be safe. I sense our luck in avoiding detection is running out._

Murtagh nodded to himself as the dragon's mental echoes faded away. He harbored the same ill feelings.


	12. A Legend Is Born

Chapter 12: A Legend Is Born

Adriane and Murtagh reached the clearing within the hour. Thorn lifted his head from his front claws as the pair approached, and he gave a content growl upon seeing Murtagh.

_Little one,_ he whispered, craning his neck to see the young Rider, _I am glad you've returned._

Murtagh smiled lightly, stroking the crimson dragon's snout as he set the supplies down next to his cloak. _As am I, my dragon._

Adriane set her effects down, hurrying over to the bundle nestled safely at Thorn's side. She unwrapped the blankets, and a brief glimmer of emerald was seen before she wrapped the dragon's egg back up again with an audible sigh of relief.

Thorn watched her actions with a critical eye. _She is becoming oddly protective of that egg._

_To her, it symbolizes hope,_ Murtagh observed somberly. _If she can get it safely to the Varden, Alagaësia stands a chance. Wouldn't you be protective of something that could potentially set you free?_ He asked, not expecting an answer.

Thorn cocked his head. _No, I wouldn't._

_Why?_

_Because it would mean neglecting my oaths as a dragon._ Thorn eyed Murtagh sternly. _Murtagh, don't let your passion and hatred against what Galbatorix has done blind you. Your focus on helping this woman escape with the last remaining egg is overpowering the fealty you swore to Galbatorix in the ancient language. I do not condone what you are trying to do, but sooner or later Galbatorix is going to want to know how your search is going, and you can't run from him forever. And then what will you tell him?_

Murtagh shifted nervously. He knew Thorn was right, but he didn't know how to reply. _With time I will figure that out, _he whispered.

_Time is something we don't have anymore, Murtagh, _Thorn stated sagely as he rested his head against his foreclaws.

Adriane, as if overhearing their conversation, approached Murtagh as he turned away from Thorn. "Well?" she asked, crossing her arms. "We've gotten everything we need… I see no reason to stay in the area much longer. Where shall we head to next?"

Murtagh ran a hand over his face, shoving chestnut locks back with slim fingers. "I don't know," he said at last, with a tone that already admitted defeat. He had hoped he wouldn't have to answer this question out loud. Sighing, he spread his cloak out on the ground and sat down cross-legged.

"I suppose the most reasonable plan would be to get you to the Varden…" he began slowly, rubbing his chin, "but if that is the past you wish to take, you'll have to follow it alone."

Adriane frowned, not liking the idea. "Why?"

Murtagh struggled to put Thorn's concerns into words. "Galbatorix still believes I'm looking for you… to bring the dragon egg back to him. If he knew I wanted to help you escape with it, more than just my life would be forfeit. If you managed to make it to the Varden, I could return and claim I was unable to find you in time." His lips thinned as he frowned, not happy with the plan he had so suddenly created for them. "At least, then, my punishment would be less severe."

Adriane liked the idea even less than Murtagh did… and not simply at the prospect of carrying the most wanted item in Alagaësia to a place she hardly knew. "I don't particularly like that plan of action… specifically the part about you suffering for my consequences."

Murtagh sighed, wanting to avoid another argument. He was trying to better sort things out, for both of them, but it would be him and Thorn who would be without a happy ending. "We should put it off until first light tomorrow… I would enjoy at least one night's sleep before we plan on doing anything dramatic."

Adriane readily agreed. They had spent the day traversing the mountains of the Spine, going purposely in circles, in order to avoid anyone who might be trailing them. There was no such thing as being too cautious, and they had spent the day talking about their future plans, traveling, and storing the food Aunt Marian had provided them away. Dusk had since fallen, and there was no more reason to continue without daylight to aid them.

They avoided making a fire, and ate some of the rations cold. Adriane laid out a blanket across the clearing from Murtagh and quickly fell asleep. He, however, lay awake for hours, fingers crossed behind his head as he stared up through the canopy at the stars, contemplating how to see both of them out of this situation alive.

* * *

"Murtagh… Murtagh, wake up! I need you, now!"

The young Rider was instantly on his feet, hand on Zar'roc's hilt as Adriane shook his shoulder viciously. After sensing no immediate danger, however, Murtagh settled back onto his blankets and grumbled, "What is it?"

Adriane answered by dashing over to the edge of the camp and kneeling, head bowed, over a quivering bundle. Murtagh's breath caught in his throat. _Could it be the egg…?_

"Murtagh!" Adriane shouted a third time, more sharply; her back stiffened as she struggled to keep the bundle steady in her lap.

Exhaustion instantly forgotten, Murtagh leapt to his feet and ran over to kneel at Adriane's side. They glanced at each other knowingly before Adriane gently pulled the bundle of blankets aside.

The emerald dragon's egg continued to shake slightly, and a small crack ran against the thin white veins along the top. Murtagh swallowed. _That certainly was not there when we checked before dusk._ He looked up as Thorn's head appeared over his shoulder, craning so as to not disturb their temporary campsite. He blinked blearily and lowered his snout to sniff at the egg.

_It hatches?_ Murtagh questioned warily. Thorn turned one grim eye him as he pulled his head away.

_Aye, it hatches,_ he confirmed, _and to your young female companion, Adriane._ He snorted and parted his jaws, a growl of amused laughter emitting from his throat. _Galbatorix himself could not have foreseen this._

_Perhaps not… let's hope he never does, _Murtagh thought grimly. He could not begin to fathom the consequences to which he and Adriane would have to pay for their treachery.

Adriane jumped suddenly when a small portion of the cracked egg popped off and a tiny squeak issued from inside. Both she and Murtagh instinctively leaned closer.

A tiny nose poked its way through the top of the egg. It seemed to sniff the air for a scent, and then withdrew back inside its shell. A second later, a protestant growl was heard as the sides of the egg shattered. Adriane hastily set the bundle containing the remains down as the being emerged.

The dragon was every bit as emerald green as its shell. Quailing loudly, the baby shook the membrane from its wrinkled wings and tail and clawed at the blankets, squinting around the clearing curiously. When its eyes lit on Adriane and Murtagh it wiggled and gave a tiny excited roar.

Murtagh felt Adriane shake next to him, and he tore his gaze from the little dragon to watch her reaction. Her mouth gaped slightly in astonishment, her eyes wide as she watched the miniature dragon in front of her. Sensing his gaze, Adriane turned to Murtagh and said in a hushed voice, "The last dragon egg in the world…"

"An honor indeed," Murtagh finished with a tentative grin. "You yourself said that when Galbatorix made you touch the egg, you felt the pull of a Rider's magical bond. Why are you so surprised?"

After a pause, Adriane sat back with a bemused laugh, pushing loose strands of hair from her face. "I had not thought that it would happen to me! Gods above… this changes everything."

"Indeed, you now have a long path ahead of you," Murtagh agreed earnestly, "but it is yours now." He motioned to the baby dragon, who had since taken to exploring its blankets, shoving them around with its snout.

Adriane let a small smile grace her lips; stretching out, she turned onto her stomach to observe her dragon further. The pair of them fell into a lapsed silence.

After a minute, Thorn, who had since been silently gazing down at the hatchling with indifference, craned his neck down once more. The baby squealed when Thorn drew near, but the crimson dragon merely touched it lightly on the forehead with his nose. The young dragon calmed considerably at the presence of its own kind. It flicked its tail around playfully, growling up at its elder.

Thorn, however, snorted and reared back quickly, growling. Startled, the young dragon wailed, burying itself back into the blankets.

_Murtagh,_ Thorn spoke harshly.

_You did not have to startle it so! What?_ Murtagh responded, glaring over his shoulder. Thorn stared down at him, unfazed.

_There is something you, and especially Adriane, should know._

_What is it, then?_

_Although it is still young, I have already formed the mental link all dragons share with each other with this hatchling. Murtagh… Adriane's dragon is female._

Murtagh's sharp intake of breath caught Adriane's attention, and she turned to him, demanding, "What's wrong?"

Murtagh merely gazed at her, not even knowing that their situation had just increased tenfold.

* * *

Hidden deep in the shadows of the forest that surrounded the campsite, Xarxes watched the unexpected events unfold with narrowed eyes.

He had failed.

Even as an agent to the most feared man in Alagaësia, Xarxes cared little for the King's devious ways. He did not know who else Galbatorix plotted with, or why. Man, dragon or Urgal, it mattered not; he did not associate himself with such lowly creatures, and he had never bothered to know the dragons or Rider that Galbatorix had supposedly turned under his control.

By now, he was wishing he had bothered with the formalities.

Galbatorix had sent him to retrieve the egg… not the dragon inside. He had not been warned that this woman—the one he had been sent to track, the one who had brought this upon him in the first place—was, in fact, the last dragon Rider. How had she known the dragon would hatch for her? Xarxes knew it mattered little now. He would have to return to Galbatorix and admit his failure to return the egg, and the idea did not please him.

And yet, perhaps…

Xarxes watched how the woman spoke and acted towards the young man she sat next to. As a shapeshifter he learned long ago how to read other people's intentions based solely on their body language and tone of voice, and he could read his target like an open scroll. She sat leaning away from him, as if she did not fully trust him, but the way she spoke and gesticulated towards him suggested otherwise.

Xarxes grinned, pulling pale lips over serrated teeth as his yellow eyes glittered in the moonlight. A different kind of plan was coming to mind, and perhaps his mission was not over after all.

He turned his back on the campsite, on his quarry and the newly born dragon, and set off into the woods. He had much to prepare.


	13. The Last Generation

Chapter 13: The Last Generation

_It's female._

Murtagh's mind reeled with incomprehension as he and Adriane gazed down at the little green dragon. _Shade's blood… the last dragon in the world to hatch is female. Galbatorix was wrong._

When Adriane did not speak, Murtagh cleared his throat and stated slowly, "We have a predicament on our hands, here."

"What is it?" Adriane questioned shakily, glancing between Murtagh and her new dragon. Murtagh swallowed, struggling to find the proper words to say.

"You have heard, of course, of the first Rider of the new generation… they call him Eragon Shadeslayer, and his dragon, Saphira?"

Adriane nodded slowly, her brows furrowing in incomprehension. "Yes, I've heard the stories…"

"Galbatorix sought him out not only for being the one Rider not under his control, but also because Saphira is female. Galbatorix believed the remaining dragons, whether hatched or unhatched, were male. Saphira, if she ever were to mate, would be the mother of her generation."

Comprehension dawned in Adriane's eyes. Before she could wrap her mind around the implications of Murtagh's words, he finished with a deadly whisper.

"Adriane… Galbatorix no longer needs Eragon and Saphira. Because of you."

Adriane mouthed wordlessly for several seconds, glancing down at the hatchling dragon with a hint of fear in her eyes. Nestled comfortably in her blankets, the dragon's head perked up as the attention was turned on her and she cocked her head quizzically, as if understanding Murtagh's words.

"Eragon and Saphira have become an extremely powerful pair. You, on the other hand…" Murtagh continued, shrugging as he struggled to keep the raging emotions he had for his half-brother out of his voice. "You're simply an orphan girl with an untamed dragon and no magical powers to speak of… yet. Compared to Eragon, you would be easy to capture."

Adriane's shoulders slumped, as if the news had a physical effect on her. She wrapped her arms around her folded legs, struggling to take the new, startling information in. "He can't find out," she spoke at last, her words coming out in barely a whisper. "Galbatorix can't know the egg has hatched for me… he can't know the dragon is female."

Murtagh almost laughed. "You can't keep his own possessions hidden from a man like Galbatorix. If he doesn't come looking for you himself, he'll send someone else to do it, and sooner or later you're going to have to make the decisions for yourself... what are you going to do about it?"

A stunned silence hung across the clearing. Adriane did not know what to say in response to Murtagh's shocking revelation, and Murtagh did not have anything else to say to quell Adriane's sudden fear.

Finally, he cleared his throat and quietly spoke up. "Touch her." He motioned to the baby dragon, who was staring up at them with curious eyes. "Place your hand on her forehead."

Adriane looked startled. "Why?"

With a sudden apprehension, Murtagh realized that Adriane knew next to nothing about the legend of the dragon riders. Being raised on the outskirts of the Hadarac desert left her sheltered from the constant turmoil of the Empire, as well as the long-standing legend of the dragon riders.

Murtagh struggled to put that history into words. He held out his hand, palm upward, to reveal a pale, scar-like mark, barely visible on his skin. "This is the mark of a dragon rider... the gëdwey ignasia. A Rider's magic is channeled through here, and it symbolizes the link between dragon and Rider."

Adriane stared at the mark curiously, and Murtagh watched her with a growing sense of unease. She was terribly young and naive—not unlike he had been when Thorn hatched for him—and if she were to escape Galbatorix's clutches, she would need to learn so much about being a Rider in so little time. Murtagh almost felt sorry for her.

A brilliant flash of emerald light temporarily illuminated the dark forest, and Murtagh was startled from his reverie. He looked up to see Adriane lurch away from the baby dragon, clutching her hand to her chest.

Murtagh glanced over at her as Adriane let out a breath she was not aware of holding. "What's wrong?"

"I… I feel it," she stated in a hushed tone. "The connection that flows between a dragon and its Rider…"

"It will grow stronger over the coming days," Murtagh commented. "You'll soon be able to harness that power and convert it into magic… and as your dragon matures, so will your connection with her."

Murtagh managed a small smile as he struggled to remain optimistic in Adriane's presence, but he could not hide the sense of unease he felt now that the egg had hatched for her. It would be next to impossible to hide a growing dragon from all of Alagaësia, and sooner or later news would spread that the last egg had hatched. When that happened, Galbatorix would send his armies to retrieve Adriane and the dragon by force, and Murtagh tried not to think of the punishment that would be inflicted on both himself and Thorn for their failure.

Adriane had next to no experience with the predicament she had been so suddenly thrust into, and her almost childlike responses hardly reflected Murtagh's own uncertainty and doubt. Despite the contract that bound his loyalty to Galbatorix in the ancient language, Murtagh hoped he could see her and her new dragon safely to the Varden; if not for his own sense of closure—for the sense that he had done something right—then for her own sake.

Adriane did not immediately reply to Murtagh's previous comment; she sat in awed silence as the young dragon briefly explored the perimeter of the clearing before nosing its way back into her lap. Adriane felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth, and she gently stroked the emerald scales along the hatchling's spine. "I still can't believe this is happening."

A thin smile tugged at Murtagh's lips as he struggled to ward off his doubts. "What are you going to name her?"

Adriane considered the question, fingers still lightly tracing over the newly placed gëdwey ignasia on her hand. "Zamora," she stated finally. "Her name is Zamora."

The hatchling made a low purring noise in her chest, appearing content.

* * *

After Adriane had fallen asleep by the fire, Zamora nestled safely in the blanket at her side, Murtagh stood up and silently walked away from the clearing, into the woods.

Thorn opened his eyes sleepily as Murtagh brushed past him. _Where are you going?_

_To buy us some time._

Murtagh vanished into the shadows of the forest, making sure to go deep enough to remain undetected. Glancing over his shoulder to make sure Adriane had not followed him, he knelt at the base of a large fir tree.

Moisture in the forests along the side of the Spine left the ground damp and muddy, but Murtagh didn't seem to notice. He passed his hand over the surface of the soggy ground, and he whispered several words in the ancient language—words to a spell Galbatorix himself had taught him.

The spell was similar to scrying; however, the user did not view the person they were attempting to contact. Rather, they only heard spoken words. Galbatorix had taught Murtagh the trick of "speaking out of earshot" when he had first been brought under the King's control. Murtagh had secretly vowed never to contact Galbatorix in this manner; now, however, he hoped it would serve its purpose.

The surface of the muddy groundwater shimmered with unseen ripples before growing unnaturally still and dark; a moment later, the murky water cleared, leaving the puddle strangely lucid and tranquil.

Murtagh's voice was apprehensive as he spoke. "My king, Galbatorix…" Ripples spread outward from the center of the groundwater, as if his words had a physical effect on the puddle. "I have come to report on my travels."

Silence hung over the clearing for so long that Murtagh began to wonder if the spell had even worked. He was preparing to release the spell when, at last, Galbatorix spoke, his voice muffled and distorted. "Are you alone?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Good. Have you found the girl and the dragon egg?" Galbatorix's voice was curt and demanding, and Murtagh swallowed, suddenly unsure of what to say. The binding contract Galbatorix held over both him and his dragon prevented Murtagh from lying; however, it wasn't lying if he simply did not voice the whole truth.

"No, I have not." Murtagh hoped the King didn't notice his brief hesitation. "Thorn and I are currently searching the depths of Du Weldenvarden for her; the forest is vast and dangerous, with the elves being so close, and we have taken extra precautions to remain undetected."

"I assume this is why you have failed to contact me before."

"My apologies, my lord... our travels have been difficult, and I fear it may take us longer than anticipated to find this girl."

Murtagh closed his eyes, silently praying to any god who would listen that Galbatorix wouldn't take his response as an excuse for more time. Once again, Galbatorix was silent for an uncomfortable length of time. When he spoke again, his voice was chillingly cold. "Do not fail me in this, Murtagh."

"No, my king."

"You will contact me as soon as you have news of the girl and the egg. And Murtagh… you would do well to remember that you are not the only one out there who is searching for her."

Murtagh knew Galbatorix had severed his connection to the magic, but his final words still sent a shiver of apprehension through Murtagh's spine. Who else had Galbatorix sent to look for them?

This was no longer his brother's fight; this was his, Murtagh's, rebellion against all of the atrocities Galbatorix had committed against him, since the day he had been born. He stood up with that firm resolve in his mind, more sure than ever that, somehow, he was doing the right thing.

Murtagh hoped he would live long enough to witness Galbatorix's downfall.


	14. In The Land of Dragons

_"In the land of dragons we walk side by side,  
Love not returned, trust never earned  
But brothers 'till the end."_  
**Pyramaze—"Caramon's Poem"**

Chapter 14: In The Land of Dragons

"He's lying."

Galbatorix sat upon his throne, wiry fingers clenched around the armrests so tightly his knuckles turned white. Behind him, the curtains fluttered as Shruikan growled softly in response to his Rider's anger.

The King chuckled darkly, a foreboding sound that was low in his throat. "The boy thinks he can lie to me through his own teeth, and I would not know of it?"

"Perhaps he is afraid, my King."

Xarxes stood in front of Galbatorix's throne, arms crossed over his chest, an action that seemed to suggest that prostrating himself before the most powerful man in Alagaësia was beneath him. More than a week after leaving his watch, he had returned to Galbatorix to report on his travels; apparently, however, the King had already contacted the Rider he had sent out to find the girl.

Galbatorix slammed a hand down on the armrest of his throne furiously. "As well he should be!" he growled, "He has repeatedly acted out against my word!"

Xarxes shifted as he stated slowly, "Perhaps, if you had told me there was another you had sent to search for this girl…"

"You had no reason to know," Galbatorix snarled in response to Xarxes' condescending tone. The Shade bowed mockingly.

"Of course, my King. I was merely making an irrelevant observation." Xarxes arched his eyebrows as he looked up at Galbatorix through cerulean locks of hair. "However, I believe there is something else you should know."

Galbatorix sat back in his throne, shoulders stiff, waiting for Xarxes to continue. The shapeshifter hesitated, not out of uncertainty, but because he wanted his next words to have their full effect on the pretentious King.

"I tracked the girl, as you asked. I found her in the shadow of the Spine, at least a week ago. The Rider and his dragon were with her." He paused for effect, watching as Galbatorix's face slowly turned from pensive to furious as Xarxes' words sunk in.

"There is more. That night, as I waited for an opportunity to catch them by surprise, something rather… unexpected happened." He took a slow breath, struggling to repress a cruel grin as his next words carried the weight of a threat.

"My lord, your precious dragon egg hatched… to none other than the very same woman who stole it."

Galbatorix was silent for so long, Xarxes began to wonder if he had been right in reporting his findings to him. Finally, the King spoke with a deadly calm.

"Find the girl and her dragon, and bring them both back to me alive. Kill the boy."

Xarxes sneered. "Yes, my King."

* * *

"She's hungry again."

Murtagh didn't even bother to look up from polishing Zar'roc to make the increasingly recurrent observation. Across the clearing, Adriane dropped her pack with an incredulous groan.

"_Again?_ I just fed her—"

"She's a growing dragon, Adriane. Her material needs don't exactly fit within the limits of ours." Murtagh held back a chuckle as he watched Zamora walk in clumsy circles around Adriane's things, whining in a low growl as she sniffed the ground frequently.

"She's not developed enough to communicate with you effectively quite yet. You need to learn how to read the physical signs, as well as the mental ones." Murtagh motioned towards the hatchling with the cloth he was using to polish Zar'roc's hilt. "She's hungry."

Adriane pursed her lips. "The rations from Thorn's last kill are already gone. I don't have any leftovers."

"Thorn." Murtagh glanced over at the crimson dragon, gnawing on a strip of bone as he basked in what little sunlight peeked through the canopy. The remains of a dead deer lay at his feet. "Do you mind sharing?"

Thorn snorted, plumes of smoke issuing from his nostrils as he shook his head furiously. _You can't be serious! I am done playing babysitter to your mate's hatchling, Murtagh. She is old enough to catch her own meal._

_And risk being seen or captured? She would be in more danger out in the open than you would be. _Murtagh leveled his gaze with Thorn's. _And she's not my mate. Now stop being childish._

Thorn curled his lip at Murtagh and growled, but nonetheless complied. He ripped a portion of the deer's hide away with a jerk of his massive maw, tossing it towards Zamora with more force than was necessary.

Upon noticing the discarded meat, the young dragon squealed happily and fell upon it in an instant, quickly tearing it to pieces. The crimson dragon snorted again as he watched Zamora with cold indifference.

Murtagh watched Thorn's interaction with Zamora with a raised eyebrow. After a moment, he asked suspiciously, _Are you jealous of the young dragon, my friend?_

_Jealous? Bah! _Thorn snapped his jaws, glaring down at Murtagh. The young Rider suppressed a grin, but Thorn did not respond.

Adriane watched the silent discussion between Murtagh and Thorn with a hint of amusement and longing in her eyes. The weight and responsibilities of being a dragon rider and yet to fall upon her shoulders, but she knew it would come soon enough.

She turned her gaze on Zamora, still gnawing on Thorn's discarded piece of meat. The hatchling had grown significantly in the passing week; her shoulder blades now reached to Adriane's waist, and the dragon could easily lift her narrow head to be eye level with Murtagh. As it is customary with the development of a young dragon, however, she had yet to make her first flight or to attempt mental communication with her Rider.

Curious, Adriane decided to try it for herself. Reaching out to the confines of her mind, she felt around for the mental link that connected her mind to Zamora's. When she found it, she felt an unfamiliar sense of weightlessness; Zamora's mind was so open and inviting, and Adriane had to struggle to keep herself attached to her own consciousness.

When she managed to establish a secure mental connection between hers and Zamora's minds, Adriane spoke the dragon's name uncertainly.

_...Zamora?_

The emerald dragon's ears pricked up curiously, and she swiveled her head around to face Adriane. Stunned that she had managed to get a reaction on her first try, Adriane attempted it again, her thoughts whispering across their shared mental connection.

_Can you hear me?_

Zamora cocked her head, an almost amused twinkle in her yellow eyes. _Yes._

The simplicity of her answer did little to quell Adriane's shock. She stared at Zamora in amazement before a slow smile stretched its way across her face, and she raised her arm, splaying her fingers outward.

Zamora took a step forward, brushing her flank against Adriane's outstretched arm. _Adriane._

* * *

Since his departure from Galbatorix's castle, Xarxes traveled across the lands of Alagaësia once more, retracing his steps back to the eastward side of the Spine.

It would have been quite a sight, for an inhabitant of a nearby village to gaze out and see a blue-haired, pale-skinned demon traversing his way across the land without any supplies or companionship, but Xarxes was a master of deception. Despite his shocking appearance, no one was better than he at what he did best: blending in.

He took the guises of various travelers in order to make his presence more obscure to anyone who spotted him; sometimes he was a world-wary trader, traversing his goods between settlements, and other times he was a simple explorer, looking to explore the world beyond his village.

No matter his appearance, Xarxes took his time, as he was not one to do away with his quarry quickly; he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, of stalking his prey, using his surroundings and the environment to his advantage. Xarxes was confident that, whether or not Adriane and Murtagh had removed themselves from the security of the clearing he had found them in last time, he would still manage to find them.

The thought of killing the crimson dragon's Rider made Xarxes sneer; how long had it been since human blood had coated his blade? Galbatorix may have insisted on sending a small band of Urgals in his wake, but Xarxes had no doubt that his abilities would fail him when it came to delivering the killing blow.

As he had observed to himself earlier, no one was better than he at what he did best.


	15. The Sufferer & The Witness

Chapter 15: The Sufferer & The Witness

The following weeks were devoted to teaching Adriane the basics of everything she would need to know to be an adequate dragon rider. Lessons that usually took years to master were compressed into a few days, but Adriane was determined to learn everything—sword fighting, magic, and becoming more intimately acquainted with Zamora—as proficiently but as quickly as she could.

In the back of his mind, however, Murtagh knew these days would not last.

Adriane would leave, headed for either the elves or the Varden, and he would have to return to Galbatorix empty handed, explain his failure, and endure the punishment that he would undoubtedly receive for going against his word.

And she still did not know who he was.

She thought him a stranger, another rogue Rider who, like herself, was caught under the relentless rule of a paranoid King. She had seen the scar given to him by his father, yes, but he had never explained to her why his lineage had been his downfall, and she had never pressed him for an explanation. By foolishly being captured, he had turned the very people who would soon take her in against him—the Varden, his brother, even his dragon, Saphira… everyone despised him for everything he was not.

Everyone except her.

Adriane's trust in him had grown tremendously over the passing days as he continued to train her as much as possible, in both sword fighting and the art of magic. Adriane's fighting skills were not perfect, nowhere near as proficient as Murtagh's, but he felt that, after a week's worth of training, she had learned enough basic skills to see her out of trouble.

Zamora seemed to grow by the hour; each passing day she was more powerful, more adept than before. She had begun to hunt on her own, and she and Adriane conversed frequently, learning as much about each other as possible, strengthening their bond as Rider and dragon.

It seemed like the perfect setting, but ultimately, they both knew the day would come when Adriane would have to leave for the Varden.

* * *

Night had fallen, and the preparations the two riders had made for Adriane's departure were almost complete.

Murtagh fashioned a makeshift saddle for Zamora from strips of leather they had collected from their last journey into town, and supplied Adriane with enough food for several days' worth of travel. After the sun had set, dousing their campsite in the waning light of the moon, Murtagh helped Adriane pack what few supplies she had and strap them to Zamora's underbelly.

As the last of her effects were packed away, Adriane turned to Murtagh, catching his arm as he stepped away from her. Words almost failed her then, but she summoned up the courage to say what had plagued her doubting mind in the hours that had led up to this moment.

"I never thanked you," she began quietly, "For everything you have done to help me. Defying direct orders from Galbatorix himself… I don't know how I can ever repay you, Murtagh. You saved my liffe."

Murtagh seemed to be conflicted as he considered what to say. "It was the least I could do," he finally said. "My final act of vengeance against a King who has done nothing but bring suffering and misery to my life."

He smiled sadly and turned away from her. "I think you have everything you're going to need for the journey," he stated, changing the subject, his eyes sweeping over everything in the campsite except her.

As the words tumbled out of his mouth, Adriane fought down the urge to wrap her arms around him, to comfort him and let him know that he was not alone. Instead, she turned towards Zamora, waiting patiently for her at the edge of the clearing.

Pulling herself up onto the makeshift saddle, Adriane glanced down at Murtagh, smiling sadly. "It was truly an honor to travel with you, Murtagh. You taught me many things; maybe when I am through with my training with the elves, I will be as great a dragon rider as you."

Murtagh's throat constricted painfully; realization that he would no longer travel with Adriane settled uncomfortably in his stomach. But it was her words… they struck a deep, hidden part of him, something foreign that he had never felt before. To Galbatorix, to the Varden, to his own parents, all he had ever been was a disappointment, a burden, a tool to be used for gain; to be treated so differently was strange to him.

Shaking off the sudden surge of emotion with angry dismissal, Murtagh cleared his throat and stated weakly, "You will make a fine rider, Adriane… I am sure of it." Words failed him then, and he let his graceless phrase trail off awkwardly.

Thorn stepped around Murtagh and approached Zamora. The emerald dragon blinked up at him curiously as Thorn lowered his head, brushing his snout against hers.

_May your blows always strike true, Bjartskular. _He turned to Adriane and bowed his head respectfully. _And to you, Adriane Shur'tugal. I wish you luck on your journey._

A smile slowly stretched its way across Adriane's face; she was shocked that Thorn was being so kind to her after weeks of animosity. She extended a hand and ran her fingers down the side of the crimson dragon's snout.

_Thank you, Ebrithil,_ she whispered, using the honorific word for master in the Ancient Language. _Thank you for everything you have taught us._

She turned away from Thorn and, gradually, her eyes met Murtagh's. Something unspoken passed between them in that moment, and the lonely girl in Adriane's heart longed to reach out to him, to touch him one last time. If she were capable of being honest with herself, she knew how she felt about the man who had given up everything to help her escape a life of desolation and loneliness. However, they both knew they would never see each other again; if she voiced her emotions now, it wouldn't make their parting any easier.

Murtagh cleared his throat and glanced away uncomfortably, breaking whatever feeble connection they had made in that moment. "Safe journey, Adriane."

"Goodbye, Murtagh."

With a powerful stroke of her wings, Zamora's back claws dug into the ground as she launched herself into the air. Emerald scales glittering in the pale moonlight, Zamora's tiny frame fit easily through the canopy, and her and Adriane's silhouettes were soon all that was left of their presence as they disappeared into the night sky.

Thorn approached the opening in the canopy, sitting back on his haunches and gazing up into the stars. Murtagh walked up beside the crimson dragon, putting a hand gently on Thorn's side.

_They will be sorely missed._ Thorn's comment was quiet, somber as he reflected on Murtagh's own tumultuous feelings.

Murtagh closed his eyes and turned away, exhaling deeply as she sheathed Zar'roc and approached the small campfire. Light flickering across his face and illuminating the sorrow etched there, Murtagh finished Thorn's sentence for him.

_More than they know._

* * *

Adriane and Zamora traveled throughout most of the night, keeping close to the plains to avoid detection until they reached the eastern forest of Du Weldenvarden. As the first glimpses of the rising sun could be seen on the horizon, Adriane consented for Zamora to land and find a hiding place to rest for the duration of the day; they both knew it would be much less dangerous for them to continue traveling in the darkness of night.

Zamora soon discovered a cave hidden in the face of a small cliff on the outskirts of the forest. It was not large enough for the dragon to rest in, but Zamora assured Adriane that she would be safe enough guarding its entrance.

_Rest peacefully inside, little one, _the emerald dragon explained gently. _I will hunt, and then return to keep watch over you from outside._

Adriane reluctantly agreed, and watched Zamora disappear between the thinning trees with a hint of foreboding. She brushed the feeling off as just another symptom of the anxiousness she felt about being left, unguided to find her own way across the land until she discovered the allies she sought, and settled down to rest.

A shadow passed in front of the cave, and Adriane spun around, one hand falling to the hilt of her short sword. How could anyone have snuck past Zamora's watchful eye? Adriane swallowed down fear as the figure slowly walked into the cave.

She almost lost her composure as the waxing sunlight revealed the intruder. "Murtagh? Shade's blood, you gave me a scare! What… what are you—"

"Adriane! Thank all the Gods above and below." Murtagh came rushing into view, and the dramatic change in his exterior shocked Adriane as much as his sudden reappearance had. His face looked unnaturally pale, his eyes ringed in dark circles. She had always known him to be strong, but his frame appeared weak and frail, as though he had not eaten in days.

Adriane walked tentatively towards him. "What are you doing here?"

Murtagh looked relieved to see her again, but as he approached her, his expression seemed desperate, almost tortured. "I regret ever letting you leave on your own… Gods above knew I only wanted you by my side."

Adriane suddenly felt weak. "B…but Galbatorix… you said he would—"

"Galbatorix? Bah… that old fool doesn't even know how to control his own puppets, even when he is holding the strings. I've forsaken his control over me… that's why I decided to come find you after you left."

Murtagh leaned forward, inches away now, and reached out a hand towards her. His fingers brushed lightly along her cheekbone and came to rest on the side of her face. Adriane gave an involuntary shiver; his touch was unnaturally cold, but then again, he never touched her before as he did now.

"Adriane," he whispered, running his fingers gently through her hair, "I want to help you… I will not let you face the perils of this journey alone."

And he closed the already infinitesimal gap between them as he pressed his lips softly against hers.

If Murtagh hadn't already cupped her face in his hands, Adriane would have collapsed, purely from the shock of his actions. It seemed like a veil had been pulled over her mind, clouding her judgment, and for a moment she didn't know how to react. She tentatively returned his advances, resting her hands on the collar of his tunic. However, his gentle touch quickly became anything but.

Murtagh forced her up against the back of the cave, and suddenly Adriane didn't want him touching her anymore; there was a certain wrongness to it, and it didn't feel like she thought it would. She braced her hands against his shoulders, but he only gripped her tighter, mumbling indistinctly against her lips. Adriane's skin tingled as she felt his body shifting oddly against hers, and an uneasy feeling came over her.

When Murtagh finally pulled back, two things struck her at once: she found herself unable to move, and the creature who stood in front of her was no longer Murtagh, but a pale-skinned demon with cerulean hair and dark runes carved into the side of his face.

Adriane had no time to be appalled or shocked; she could only gasp and struggle feebly as Xarxes wrapped pale fingers around her throat, lifting her bodily from the ground and keeping her pinned against the cave wall. He sneered and opened his mouth to speak, but his words were drowned out by a piercing, bloodthirsty shriek—Zamora, sensing her Rider was in danger, had returned.

_Adriane!_

The bellow that issued from Zamora's maw echoed loudly in the stillness of the cave, and the dragon leapt into view, prepared to defend her rider from the unknown intruder. Despite her efforts, however, she did not get far.

"_Malthinae!"_ Xarxes barked, and his free hand curled outwards toward Zamora as he used the same binding spell against the dragon as he did Adriane. Zamora froze in mid-lunge, her mouth gaping in a permanent snarl.

With the threat of Zamora's attack temporarily held at bay, Xarxes turned his attention back to Adriane, still suspended above the ground in the demon's cold grasp. He cocked his head and grinned, gazing up at Adriane as though she were an amusing plaything. "I knew if I disguised myself as that pathetic dragon rider, you would come running to his beck and call. You're more predictable than he was."

Adriane managed to wrap her arms around Xarxes' wrist, but the action did her little help. Her eyelids fluttered as she struggled for breath, and her thoughts shifted not to the imminent danger, but to Murtagh and how much she secretly wanted the words this shapeshifter had spoken in his stead to be true…

Xarxes released his grip on her, and Adriane collapsed on her hands and knees, gasping for breath. The demon kept Zamora bound in the invisible chains of his spell, but he had no need to restrain Adriane again; she was weak, and he knew he could easily overpower her.

Adriane fumbled with the belt around her waist, trying to free her sword from its sheath, but Xarxes was quicker; he kicked out swiftly and his booted foot caught Adriane's shoulder, flipping her onto her back. He wrapped a cold hand around her neck, keeping her pinned there as he kneeled down next to her.

"I've been watching you and that boy for weeks. Galbatorix won't be too pleased to hear that his loyal dragon rider has betrayed his orders… but he is far more interested in you now." With his free hand, Xarxes grabbed her wrist and twisted it, forcing her palm upwards. He grinned as the _gëdwey ignasia_ shone blandly in the creeping sunlight.

"You, the unsuspecting farmgirl, who gave him so much trouble… but, I suspect once he has your dragon under his control, he won't have much use for you anymore." He lowered his head, curtains of cerulean hair falling in front of his face as he pressed cold lips to Adriane's ear, whispering, "Would you like to know what fate Galbatorix has in store for your precious rider?"

Adriane's blood ran cold. "Don't... please, don't hurt him!" she gasped, her voice raspy as Xarxes' hand constricted around her throat. After everything Murtagh had done for her, everything he had sacrificed to help her…

Xarxes leaned back and arched his eyebrows in mock surprise. "Oh, I won't be laying a finger on him. For you, however, I cannot say the same."


	16. Disposable Hero

"_There is no reconciliation that will put me in my place,  
and there is no time like the present to drink these draining seconds  
But seldom do these words ring true when I'm constantly failing you,  
Walls that we just can't break through until we disappear."  
_**Rise Against—"Savior"**

Chapter 16: Disposable Hero

The night following Adriane's departure, Murtagh hardly slept at all; his mind was plagued with a dozen different doubts and uncertainties and things he could have done differently. He was apprehensive about letting Adriane leave so abruptly after Zamora's hatching; she still had so much to learn, and Murtagh wondered if she would be able to hold her own if they were to find trouble on their way to safety.

_Stop your fretting,_ Thorn snapped irritably as the night wore on, Murtagh's constant worrisome fears emanating from the mental connection both of them shared. _We trained them as well as we could in the little time we had. They'll be fine, Murtagh._

_But was it enough? _Sitting cross-legged in front of a small fire, Murtagh's eyes gazed into the dying flames, a million different doubts and scenarios running through his mind.

Thorn sat behind him, his head resting on his outstretched claws. He exhaled heavily, wisps of smoke curling from his nostrils. _We taught them as much as we could. We are no more experienced than they are. Their only chance to complete their training is to go to the Varden… a place where we cannot follow._

Murtagh sighed, closing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. "I know." He spoke out loud, to convince himself more than Thorn.

The dragon watched him closely. _You know what we have to do now._

"Yes… we have to figure out what to tell Galbatorix when we—"

A rustle was heard in the surrounding woods, leaves and twigs snapping under heavy footfalls of an invisible creature. Thorn's head rose from its resting place in his front claws, his yellow eyes darting around the clearing. _What was that?_

Murtagh stood up slowly, one hand on Zar'roc's hilt. He backed away from the direction the noise emanated from, searching for its source. _I'm not sure… perhaps it was only—_

Murtagh's next words were cut off by a ferocious bellow that echoed around the clearing. Bursting from the tree line, several Urgals suddenly leapt from the shadows, dark swords drawn as they charged at the pair with vicious snarls. Murtagh leapt to his feet, drawing Zar'roc from its sheath. Thorn was right behind him, already on his feet and poised to defend his rider, spread out as wide as the small clearing would allow.

There were not as many as the last time he fought off the creatures; Murtagh cut through the first several that threw themselves at him with ease, Thorn on his back to make sure no others could sneak in and attack them. He worked furiously, Zar'roc cutting its way through flesh and bone as the Urgals leapt from their hiding places and into the clearing. Murtagh's mind raced as he fought them off, struggling to find a reason why they were attacking him; perhaps they were a rogue band, not under Galbatorix's control?

_Or perhaps Galbatorix found out about my helping Adriane escape, and has decided to get rid of me…_

Murtagh pushed the thought from his mind, focusing all of his energy on fending off the attacking Urgals. With Thorn's help, he managed to kill most of them quickly without sustaining an injury; quicker than it started, the band of creatures lay dead on the forest floor, dark stains of blood circling their fallen bodies.

Thorn snorted, satisfied with the quick outcome. He sat back on his haunches and proceeded to lick the blood from his claws. _That was… unexpected._ His eyes flicked up as a rasping growl emanated from the body lying a few feet away from him. _That one is still alive. Should we address that?_

Still breathing heavily from the exertion of the fight, Murtagh slowly made his way through the slaughter; Zar'roc dug its way through the blood-splattered dirt as he approached the last surviving Urgal. The horned monster still clutched at the wound across its chest; black liquid seeped between its fingers as it gave a harsh cough, blood flecking its lips.

Murtagh had no pity for the repulsive creature. Grabbing the Urgal roughly by the collar of its tunic, he slammed it up against the nearest tree trunk, resting Zar'roc on the nape of the monster's neck.

"Who sent you?" Murtagh demanded harshly. "I know it wasn't Galbatorix; he would not allow for the killing of the only rider still under his control." He shook the Urgal roughly. "Answer me!"

The Urgal merely chuckled, wheezing as it did so. "Foolish human… it seems you know less about the intentions of the King than I thought." It sneered. "Nonetheless… you'll get no answer from me so easily."

Murtagh smiled coldly. Clenching the Urgal's tunic tighter, he pulled back his sword arm and slammed Zar'roc's tip deep into the monster's shoulder, impaling it against the tree trunk. The Urgal screamed, writhing in agony as it struggled to get free.

Murtagh stepped back. "I'll ask again: Who sent you?"

The Urgal's head lolled limply on its chest as it struggled to breathe. After several seconds, it looked up, chuckling as its next words carried the weight of a threat. "The… the blue-haired demon. He is the one who… who has her… your rider." The creature shuddered and fell still.

Murtagh's blood ran cold. "Who has her?" he demanded, his voice frantic. When the Urgal did not respond, Murtagh took a step closer, shouting, "Damn you, who has her? Who has Adriane?"

"…Xarxes."

Murtagh barely heard the name whispered with the creature's dying breath as the Urgal slumped, lifeless, over Zar'roc's protruding hilt.

Murtagh swore violently. Wrenching his blade from the Urgal's body, he dashed over to the edge of the clearing. Thorn was there, surrounded by a pile of slain Urgals, occupied with licking the blood from his claws. He stopped as Murtagh approached, gazing at him with knowing eyes.

_We seem to find ourselves at the brunt of more and more of encounters such as these._ Thorn cocked his head when Murtagh ignored him, putting his effects into the saddlebags with more force than was necessary. _What is it, young one?_

"They have Adriane," Murtagh growled out loud. "At least, someone does." He turned to face Thorn, and the dragon saw the torment in his rider's eyes. "Someone the Urgal called Xarxes."

_Murtagh, _Thorn said gently, _Are you sure you can trust the word of these monsters? How do you know they are not trying to lure you into a trap?_

"Because it wasn't Galbatorix!" Murtagh shouted, pacing back and forth impatiently. "It was someone else, it was Xarxes, someone who wants Adriane for another reason—"

_Murtagh, _Thorn said, a little more sternly, _What if he is working for Galbatorix? What if this Xarxes is under the King's orders, just as we are? _Wisps of smoke emanated from between his ivory fangs as he growled, _Think; do not be so hasty in your actions, or they may put us in a worse predicament than we are now._

Murtagh's temper flared at Thorn's words—mostly because he knew the dragon was right. "You don't want to rescue her, do you?" he growled, groping blindly for some sort of justification for his own actions. "You never did take kindly to her or her dragon, and now that they're gone, you just want to forget about them as if they never walked into our lives!"

Thorn raised his head up and bellowed, snarling as he snapped his maw furiously. _Do not question my intentions, Murtagh! They are just as honorable as yours. I told you your thoughts and feelings for this girl were reckless, but I never said I did not wish to pursue them!_

Murtagh stared at Thorn in stunned silence before mumbling quietly, "You're right… I am sorry, my friend." Before Thorn could reply, Murtagh buried his head in his hands, sinking to his knees next to the crimson dragon's flank. "Shade's blood," he swore quietly, "How did we let this happen to them?"

Thorn's head snaked around Murtagh, his words gentle and comforting. _Do not blame yourself; Adriane has been in danger ever since she ran away with the King's last dragon egg. Without our protection, it was likely Galbatorix would have sent someone after her._

"You know what we have to do," Murtagh commented quietly, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and shivering.

Thorn blinked solemnly, already sensing his rider's actions before Murtagh voiced them. _I do… but that doesn't mean I like it any better. To Galbatorix, this is considered treachery… insubordination. Worse so than what we've already done. The next time we are brought before him, he may not let us escape with our lives._

"Yes he will," Murtagh growled, growing more determined as his ill-becoming plan developed in his mind. "Our oath only binds us to our promise to search for Adriane and the egg… and, technically, that's what we are doing. We're looking for them."

_I know, _Thorn stated quietly. _I will stand behind you no matter what path you take, Murtagh. Your safety is always my highest priority; to see you throw yourself so recklessly into the path of danger… for a stranger? It… it scares me._

"For once I'm not thinking about how the consequences of my actions will affect me." Murtagh sighed. "To everyone, I'll always be better off dead. The least I can do is the right thing… or what I believe that to be, and not someone else's version of what is right," he spat with contempt.

Thorn lowered his massive head, brushing gently against Murtagh's cheek. _Not to me, _he spoke kindly. _Nay, little one, to me you are better off very much alive. For your soul is mine, and even if Alagaësia itself turns against you, you will not be alone. We have each other, as dragon and rider. Never forget that._

Murtagh wrapped his arms around Thorn's snout—an uncharacteristic gesture, but it allowed him to hold on tight to a small ray of light in the ever-blinding darkness.

_Are you ready? _Thorn inquired after a while.

Murtagh pulled back, nodding, a determined gleam in his eyes. "Yes. And I pray to any god who will listen that it works."

With Thorn's help, he began moving the bodies of the slain Urgals from the clearing, taking them to a secluded part of the woods where—they hoped—no one would find them. It took them most of the evening, but dragon and rider were thorough in their task; they didn't want to run the risk of anyone stumbling on their campsite, and the bodies, any time soon.

The waxing moon was high above them by the time they finished, providing sufficient lighting for Murtagh's next task. He cleared out a small area on the ground near the extinguished fire, leaving only a damp patch of soil exposed. Kneeling down, Murtagh pressed his palms down on the ground and closed his eyes.

_Do you think this will work?_ Thorn asked quietly.

"I don't know," Murtagh admitted, his eyes still closed. He focused his energy on drawing the water into the divot—a trick Eragon had learned when the pair traveled through the Hadarac Desert together—and spoke the necessary words in the ancient language.

Water suddenly flooded into the hole, and Murtagh abruptly cut off the flow of magic as soon as the hole was filled, so it would not drain him too quickly; he needed more magic still for his next task.

As the water stilled, Murtagh passed his hand over the glassy surface, muttering the words in the ancient language that would allow him to scry Adriane. He was unsure if the spell would even work; he would only be able to see her if she was in a place he had been before. If she was anywhere else, she would only appear to him against a white background, and it would be impossible to tell where she was. However, he had to try, even if just to see if she was still alive.

The surface of the water rippled, then fell unnaturally still. The liquid darkened, and slowly, an image began to take shape in its depths.

A dank room, lit only dimly by the waning moonlight from a barred window set high against the far wall, reflected back at Murtagh. He could tell it was some sort of underground prison; the brick walls were slick with condensation, the ground dirty and unkempt. In the far corner, a pile of grimy, torn rag blankets covered a seemingly unconscious form. Murtagh squinted, only just able to see through the darkness a pale, bloodied face and lank brown hair: Adriane.

He sat back abruptly, letting out a breath he wasn't aware of holding as he released the image; the water returned to normal, and slowly began to absorb into the dirt. Thorn glanced at Murtagh with large, curious eyes. _What did you see?_

Murtagh stood up and immediately began packing away his effects in the dragon's saddlebags. "I scryed her location."

_How were you able to see where she was?_ he asked curiously. _You can only scry a person's exact location if—_

"If I've been there before," Murtagh finished. "And I have—she's being kept in the prisons of Gil'ead." He briefly showed Thorn his memories of rescuing Eragon from the same prison after he had been captured, saving the elf princess Arya in the process.

Thorn seemed just as shocked as Murtagh felt that scrying Adriane had worked. _What is your plan, then?_

Murtagh sheathed Zar'roc and climbed onto Thorn's back. "I don't have one," he admitted after a moment's consideration. "But I've broken into the prisons of Gil'ead before… it may take a little more thought this time around, but I believe I can do it again."

_You are awfully confident, considering you run the risk of being noticed. It is a dangerous gamble, Murtagh. _Thorn twisted his head around to peer at Murtagh through one yellow eye. _Are you sure this is worth it?_

Murtagh gripped Thorn's saddle tightly, as if to reassure himself. "Yes… I cannot leave her, or her dragon, at the mercy of someone like Galbatorix. She deserves the choice that I never had."

Thorn stared at Murtagh quietly for a moment, surprised to hear his rider speaking so passionately about someone other than himself. _No stranger's life is more important than my own… do you remember when you said that?_

_Yes._

_Does that saying still hold true to you, Murtagh? Answer me honestly._

Murtagh gazed at Thorn for a moment, weighing the dragon's words carefully. Finally, he exhaled and replied slowly, "I'm not sure of anything anymore." He answered out loud, needing to hear the conviction in his words for himself.

Thorn's lips curled back in a soundless laugh, amused. _But your heart tells you differently._

Murtagh didn't answer immediately. Thorn shook his head, dismissing the conversation. _Very well then, keep your secrets. _He flared his wings wide and arched his back, preparing to spring from the clearing and into the open sky. _To Gil'ead?_

Murtagh thought on Thorn's statement for a moment longer before closing his eyes and nodding. "To Gil'ead."

They left that night, flying southwest towards the Spine and the lake of Isenstar. The trip grew more treacherous as they left the safety of the forest; the barren plains that bordered the Hadarac Desert provided little cover for a creature as large as a dragon. Thorn flew high, using cloud cover to hide during the day and descending upon nightfall, keeping close to the plains. They stopped only for Thorn to rest and catch a meal, and for Murtagh to eat what little food was left over in his pack.

Because they were being so cautious, the trip took them longer than it should have; they reached the western shore of Lake Isentar four nights after they set out. Murtagh prayed to any god that would listen that their delay wouldn't mean life or death to Adriane; he couldn't help but relate every stroke of Thorn's wings to the minutes of her life that were ebbing away at Xarxes' hand.

It was just past midnight when they were able to spy the city of Gil'ead in the distance, faintly outlined by the light of the moon. Murtagh dismounted from Thorn's saddle, stiff and cold, but immediately set to work on making them a makeshift camp without being seen. "It will be safer to enter the prisons at night," he explained to Thorn as he removed his cloak from the dragon's saddlebags. "If, gods willing, nothing goes wrong and I am not spotted… I may be able to get her out of there without much trouble." He did not mention how he expected himself to fight past a Shade if Xarxes still remained at Gil'ead.

Thorn settled down into the low shrubs that surrounded Lake Isentar, folding his legs under his body and resting his massive head on the ground. Large yellow eyes, bearing the wisdom and sorrow of a century, stared soberly at the darkened horizon.

_I hope, for the sake of Alagaësia, that you are right._


End file.
